<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7210426916387153818</id><updated>2011-04-21T13:38:10.159-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nikki In Africa</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nikkiinafria.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7210426916387153818/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nikkiinafria.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Nikki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08053859117775353873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>10</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7210426916387153818.post-2304417938336360701</id><published>2007-10-31T00:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-01T18:37:24.280-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bye-bye Africa.</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;Once again I apologize for the lack of blogging. I am in the Heathrow Airport trying desperately not to cry. It is all I have been doing for the past 12 hours. I had a home and a family in Africa for the past two months and I was not ready to say goodbye. People in Africa are always saying that once you've been there it gets in your blood, I am now a prime example of that. I know that I have written about events that have happened there, but I don't think I have told you about the little things that happen daily that will make me miss this place the most.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fact that you are greeted by a smile, a wave, and always a "Hello, how are you?" by everyone you come in contact with. Whether it be a stranger or someone you see everyday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The hand shake. It's hard to explain without seeing it, but it's like everyone in Livingston has a secret handshake with each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The Children. (This is the biggest for me.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The way that some of them chant "Mazungu!" over and over again as we drive by. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;The fact that they can be covered in dirt, in tattered clothing, shoeless, but still be the happiest children I have ever seen. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;The way they sing. Especially their version of the ABC's. They sing the whole song, but it's as if the person who taught it to them told them to stop at the end. They took it as part of the song so they actually yell "STOP!".&lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;The way the answer "yes." to everything, whether it be a yes or no question. EX: Me: "What did you learn in school today?" Kid: "Yes."&lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;The way they are obsessed with John Cena. It is so random that out of all the athletes in the world, they only know him. They will constantly do his trademark, hand in front of the face, move.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The way strait grown men hold hands walking down the street. Homosexuality is illegal in Zambia, but these men are just really good friends and want to hold hands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The way you see monkeys, elephants, and giraffes while driving down the street as often as you would see stray cats in the US. And side note to this- the way people have to roll up their windows and lock their doors, not because they are afraid of a person stealing their car, but because monkeys steal EVERYTHING inside it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The village markets. The fact you can find anything from vegetables to flip flops to tires, and everyone is ready to bargain for a good price. I also love how the people there call me "Sista from anotha motha"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sunsets on the Zambezi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The volunteers. There were three in particular that became my family and I know I will keep in touch with them forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;The way everyone says "TIA!" (This is Africa). It can be used in any situation. The water goes off. -TIA The bus is late. -TIA You smell like BO -TIA You see elephants walking next to your car on the street -TIA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My attitude here (Which I plan on keeping when I get back.) Before I left I will admit I was a little high maitnance (just a little). There was a time where I refused to eat in a B or C restaurant, and I wouldn't stay in motels because I thought they were dirty.Well, I can honestly say that I am pretty much over all that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will love Africa forever, and miss everything about it. But I know I will be back there again very soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, now for pictures. I apologize for the lack of them, but now that I am in England it will be easier to post them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;My House:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127402767604764546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Rygxpqdvz4I/AAAAAAAAAEM/B1LPxdXnA34/s400/House.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;My African Family: &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127402750424895314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Rygxoqdvz1I/AAAAAAAAAD0/Uqe3IPKtjSw/s400/the+fam.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;The Crazy Freaking Animals:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127402754719862626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Rygxo6dvz2I/AAAAAAAAAD8/mZ7JgI-9uL8/s400/baboons.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127402759014829938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/RygxpKdvz3I/AAAAAAAAAEE/h13VwOlg018/s400/eleph.+2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127410258027728994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Ryg4dqdv0GI/AAAAAAAAAF4/kqleU7UL90Q/s400/zebra+2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Rapid 7 and my most favorite car in the world (owned by one of my favorite people in Africa):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127410227962957890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Ryg4b6dv0EI/AAAAAAAAAFo/Tf2KTfS14jc/s400/rapid+7+3.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;My Kids:&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127402767604764562" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Rygxpqdvz5I/AAAAAAAAAEU/XxvdDZ_EdXA/s400/kids.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127410223667990578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Ryg4bqdv0DI/AAAAAAAAAFg/Ff4TLxFsFYg/s400/my+kids.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127410232257925202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Ryg4cKdv0FI/AAAAAAAAAFw/rUX2UDr6fjM/s400/kids2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127410262322696306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Ryg4d6dv0HI/AAAAAAAAAGA/ETE_s85YR2w/s400/mashiko.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Maramba Farm (where some of the volunteering takes place):&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127406319542718466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Ryg04adv0AI/AAAAAAAAAFI/HCZ77hFQ7hA/s400/maramba+farm.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127406302362849250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Ryg03advz-I/AAAAAAAAAE4/PyxNfHjzKpU/s400/farm+2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Maramba Village Market:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127406315247751154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Ryg04Kdvz_I/AAAAAAAAAFA/TL3M6uz9mvM/s400/m.+market.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Victoria Falls:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127406336722587666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Ryg05adv0BI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/6kia7OKaW_Q/s400/vic+fall3.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;The Zambezi at Sunset:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127406345312522274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Ryg056dv0CI/AAAAAAAAAFY/nZsqURkHCTo/s400/zam.+2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7210426916387153818-2304417938336360701?l=nikkiinafria.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nikkiinafria.blogspot.com/feeds/2304417938336360701/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7210426916387153818&amp;postID=2304417938336360701' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7210426916387153818/posts/default/2304417938336360701'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7210426916387153818/posts/default/2304417938336360701'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nikkiinafria.blogspot.com/2007/10/bye-bye-africa.html' title='Bye-bye Africa.'/><author><name>Nikki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08053859117775353873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Rygxpqdvz4I/AAAAAAAAAEM/B1LPxdXnA34/s72-c/House.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7210426916387153818.post-4328088491162548964</id><published>2007-10-03T02:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-03T02:29:09.654-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My New Obsession</title><content type='html'>Sense I have been here, I have done many cool things. But none compare to what I did two weeks ago, and continue doing every &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Saturday&lt;/span&gt;... white water rafting on the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Zambezi&lt;/span&gt;. I am obsessed, so obsessed in fact that I have gone twice and am planning on going at least two more times before I leave. The river is a grade 5 river, which means that it is really intense. I've done the whole Colorado River thing, but it doesn't even compare. The rapids have names such as: The Devil's Toilet Bowl, The Man Eater, and (the scariest) Mother. I have had three near death experiences, and I still cannot stop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is one of those blogs that can only be described through pictures. This one is Mother. Keep your eyes on the converse.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5117037005437057922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/RwNeC5Oau4I/AAAAAAAAAC8/s6fra9UFyfg/s400/Steves+060.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5117037009732025234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/RwNeDJOau5I/AAAAAAAAADE/Jj3yM8LXT8Y/s400/Steves+061.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5117037018321959842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/RwNeDpOau6I/AAAAAAAAADM/tYQYSK140hI/s400/Steves+062.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5117037022616927154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/RwNeD5Oau7I/AAAAAAAAADU/Lrzq5xyhZkQ/s400/Steves+063.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5117037026911894466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/RwNeEJOau8I/AAAAAAAAADc/BojOcNx2-kU/s400/Steves+064.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5117039805755734994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/RwNgl5Oau9I/AAAAAAAAADk/0wK0XtkUqac/s400/Steves+065.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5117039805755735010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/RwNgl5Oau-I/AAAAAAAAADs/K3x8tJ6YM4U/s400/Steves+066.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7210426916387153818-4328088491162548964?l=nikkiinafria.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nikkiinafria.blogspot.com/feeds/4328088491162548964/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7210426916387153818&amp;postID=4328088491162548964' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7210426916387153818/posts/default/4328088491162548964'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7210426916387153818/posts/default/4328088491162548964'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nikkiinafria.blogspot.com/2007/10/my-new-obsession.html' title='My New Obsession'/><author><name>Nikki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08053859117775353873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/RwNeC5Oau4I/AAAAAAAAAC8/s6fra9UFyfg/s72-c/Steves+060.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7210426916387153818.post-1127454141641369883</id><published>2007-10-01T07:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-01T07:38:54.889-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Real Africa</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again I apologize for the back blogging.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;A week and a half ago, I had my first face to face encounter with someone with HIV, and it was a horrifying experience. I was on my first day of medical home based care, which I was already nervous about. The most medical training I've had is my mom's stories from the ICU. Another volunteer and I headed out along with two women as interpreters, and our trusty medical bag. We arrived at the girl's house (which was basically a shack) and there she was sitting on a tarp in the yard. When I saw her, I almost started crying. She was about 5'9" and 85 pounds, max. She was literally skin and bones, except for her feet. They were so swollen, it looked like she was wearing combat boots with toes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;We sat down next to her and took out her chart (a notebook that is split into two columns: problem and action). The chart explained that she had TB, and that she had been having diarrhea. Under the action column it kept saying "told her to go to the clinic". I asked her if she had ever gone and she said no. When I asked her why, she told me she had no money, and was to weak to walk the 3 blocks. She also told me how hungry she was and that her mom gave her very little food, and would not give her a mosquito net. When I confronted the mom, she informed me that there was no money for food or mosquito nets. I gave the mom a bag of maize, which is basically like corn meal, but after that we didn't know what to do. So finally, I was like, "Fuck it, I am calling a cab and we will take her to the clinic ourselves". Obviously, she was never going to go and if the two of us went with her, she would probably get helped quicker.&lt;br /&gt;The cab came, and it took both me and the other volunteer to get her up and into the car. The mom wanted to stay home, but we told her that she had to come or I would take the maize away. Now, I know that sounds harsh, but this woman did not seem concerned in the slightest that her daughter looked like she was going to die any minute. She didn't have any other children to take care of , and no one else was home. She just didn't want to go. Finally, she got into the cab and we left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;We arrived at the clinic and it was insanely crowded. Now when I use the word "clinic", I use it very loosely. There are no doctors, just nurses and a clinical advisor. There is dirt everywhere, cockroaches everywhere, and there was a faint smell of vomit. We found a nurse and told her we needed a clinical advisor. it took a few minutes, but we were finally aloud to see him. He ran a couple of tests on her and told us that not only did she have TB, but she was HIV Positive, and the swelling in her feet was a result of a malignant cancer. Basically, she was dying and that she had to go to the hospital so that they could make her more comfortable. I had to put my sun glasses on because I started crying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;They told us to put her into a bed until the ambulance arrived. Again, it took both me and the other volunteer to move her from the adviser's desk to the bed. When I pulled back the sheets to get her into the cot, I found a dirty scalpel blade lying right next to her feet. I seriously started gagging. I thought I was going to throw up right there next to the bed. We got rid of it, and got her situated in bed. We told the mother we were leaving, and to stay with her daughter. Se the told me that she did not want to wait anymore and that she was coming back with us. This is when I lost it. I started yelling at her, not caring if she could understand me or not. I told her that she was her mom and that she was responsible for her. That she couldn't just leave because she was tired and wanted to go home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I finally got back to the house and had a severe melt down. Jamie and Gemma, my project managers comforted me, and told me that I did the right thing. Overall, it was a very tough day, but one where I think I made a difference. Not all days are like that though. Sometimes I go to the clinic and have a great time. I meet some really great people, and some adorable kids. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Check out this picture:&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116377474554051442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/RwEGNJOau3I/AAAAAAAAAC0/dPz1t2gsjpE/s320/baby.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7210426916387153818-1127454141641369883?l=nikkiinafria.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nikkiinafria.blogspot.com/feeds/1127454141641369883/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7210426916387153818&amp;postID=1127454141641369883' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7210426916387153818/posts/default/1127454141641369883'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7210426916387153818/posts/default/1127454141641369883'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nikkiinafria.blogspot.com/2007/10/real-africa.html' title='The Real Africa'/><author><name>Nikki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08053859117775353873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/RwEGNJOau3I/AAAAAAAAAC0/dPz1t2gsjpE/s72-c/baby.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7210426916387153818.post-8649429396517539333</id><published>2007-09-30T03:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-30T03:45:30.357-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Zim Trip Part 2</title><content type='html'>Okay, so I know I am supposed to be blogging all the time, but it is hard to get enough time. For those of you who don't know, I have decided to stay another month. So the blogging will continue till November! Back to Zim Trip Part 2&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;That night we went to this restaurant called BOMA. It reminded me of an African version of Casa Bonita in Colorado. The moment we got there, they made us dress up in African fabric. I think pictures would be best to describe this place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115940087969528610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Rv94Z5OauyI/AAAAAAAAACM/sunoWi2TmFA/s320/Boma+2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115940083674561298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Rv94ZpOauxI/AAAAAAAAACE/HuK05tjKZq0/s320/Boma.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After we were seated they came around with a ceremonial drink, which tasted a like pee, but everyone had to drink it to be polite. They then had us go to a buffet of every type of meat you could think of. Being that I was in Africa, I decided that it was my job to try every single thing. I ate Ostrich, Crocodile, and Warthog. The Warthog was my favorite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115945611297471282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Rv99bZOauzI/AAAAAAAAACU/UUIoqxtGEQg/s320/Food.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115945611297471298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Rv99bZOau0I/AAAAAAAAACc/ZIvlFHxZkG0/s320/Food+2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I then got to the Worm section of the buffet. As I said earlier, I tried everything. Here is a before and after shot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115940079379593970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Rv94ZZOauvI/AAAAAAAAAB0/iU2iil8TYjo/s320/Worm.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115940079379593986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Rv94ZZOauwI/AAAAAAAAAB8/DLhMbObeXkk/s320/Worm+2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we finished eating, They gave all the guests drums to bang on and dance around with. The whole time I was doing it, I just kept thinking that the Salek family would dominate if they were here. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115945615592438610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Rv99bpOau1I/AAAAAAAAACk/CzQqzbmOTWU/s320/Drums.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115945619887405922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Rv99b5Oau2I/AAAAAAAAACs/TJFiAHOkUuk/s320/Drums+2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After dancing, my friends and I went to see the witch doctor in his little tent. He told our fortunes using bones. All the stuff he told me was a little far fetched, but he told it while his lazy eye was wondering around. It made everything sound much more believable.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115940075084626658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Rv94ZJOauuI/AAAAAAAAABs/PE1p5lZUbT8/s320/Witchdoctor.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, overall it was a pretty amazing trip. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7210426916387153818-8649429396517539333?l=nikkiinafria.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nikkiinafria.blogspot.com/feeds/8649429396517539333/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7210426916387153818&amp;postID=8649429396517539333' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7210426916387153818/posts/default/8649429396517539333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7210426916387153818/posts/default/8649429396517539333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nikkiinafria.blogspot.com/2007/09/zim-trip-part-2.html' title='Zim Trip Part 2'/><author><name>Nikki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08053859117775353873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/Rv94Z5OauyI/AAAAAAAAACM/sunoWi2TmFA/s72-c/Boma+2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7210426916387153818.post-209423597607679535</id><published>2007-09-20T01:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-20T02:37:53.996-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Zim Trip Part 1</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt; I am finally able to blog! I got the morning off because I worked the night shift at the clinic last night. Right now, I am at this cool little restaurant outside of town, waiting for my zigzag special to be served and I am not leaving till I am caught up. Here is goes:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I returned Sunday from a weekend that will probably be the most memorable in my life. And finally, I am able to show you what I mean through pictures, rather than just explain it to you. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;This last weekend we took a trip to Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe. There were 22 in our group and all of us stayed at a lodge in the center of town. We arrived on Friday night and went to a restaurant in this hotel. they had a huge menu, but only had 3 things in stock. Because of what's going on with the economy and the inflation in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Zim&lt;/span&gt;. There is no food in the stores, hence no food at restaurants. Anyway, it was pretty relaxing. All of us played the game where you write names and places where they met, fold paper, and pass it around. I for some reason thought that our family invented this game, but when I told my friends about it, they informed me that this game has existed in England for quite sometime. I also was introduced to the game of Rugby, and was forced to watch the World Cup where England got their asses beat. People in our group were less than happy. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112207951190291618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/RvI2C8Sf9KI/AAAAAAAAAAM/AWDAtfYr9xw/s320/1sr+night+dinner.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112209252565382338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 283px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 297px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="320" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/RvI3OsSf9MI/AAAAAAAAAAc/qKSeTg2H2-I/s320/Statue.jpg" width="258" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;The next morning we woke up early, and headed for the Lion Encounter. I knew that we would be hanging out with lions, but really had no idea what to expect. Our guide, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;JB&lt;/span&gt;, introduced himself and explained what the lion &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;encounter&lt;/span&gt; was all about. He had us all sign a paper that basically said that we won't sue there company if we get attacked. I was a little &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;hesitant&lt;/span&gt; at first, but still cocky about the whole thing so I signed. They then handed us skinny 3 feet long sticks, and told us that if the lion starts to bite or claw, we are supposed to point the stick at them and say, "NO!"......Um....really? That is when the cockiness melted away, and pure fear took it's place. 1. They acted like this clawing and biting was an everyday &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;occurrence&lt;/span&gt;, and 2. If a 200 lb, full grown lion comes up to attack me, I am supposed to point a dinky twig at him and say, NO?! I was pretty much freaking out at that point. It wasn't until I actually saw then that I became petrified with fear. They were not enclosed in a cage, they were roaming free on a reserve where they were fed by volunteers, but also were able to hunt baboons (which we are &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;descendants&lt;/span&gt; of, by the way. Do you see the correlation?). So, I couldn't help but think that maybe this was not going to end well for me. All the volunteers were making fun of me the whole time because &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;every time&lt;/span&gt; one of them would even approach a lion, I would yell, "Don't step on their tail!' or "Watch out for the tail!" We finally found the lions, Loco and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Londo&lt;/span&gt;, lounging underneath some trees. They were huge! &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;JB&lt;/span&gt; started asking who wanted to pet these lions, and so I stood in the corner behind a volunteer and did not raise my hand. Eventually, I got up the nerve to touch them. As approaching them, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;JB&lt;/span&gt; informed me that they are actually mild mannered when they are not looking you in the eye. Mine looked me in the eye. The minute they started to, the four guides started banging there sticks together to get him to look away. As if it wasn't scary enough, now I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;every time&lt;/span&gt; the lion turned it's head, I started to hear loud banging from every side of me. As the encounter went on, I got a little cocky. I even got yelled at for misplacing my stick. I let one of the cubs licked my hand. And at the end of the encounter, I tried to just walk up and pet the cub (not the smartest idea), and he tried to pounce on me. So, that was the end of my lion encounter. Oh! and by they way, the man who &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;owns&lt;/span&gt; the lion encounter has one arm. Can you guess why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is what you are waiting for:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112210317717271762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 283px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="320" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/RvI4MsSf9NI/AAAAAAAAAAk/Ox0EH2i18qQ/s320/Scary+Lion+2.jpg" width="266" border="0" /&gt; &lt;p align="center"&gt; This is my first time seeing him.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112210987732169954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="262" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/RvI4zsSf9OI/AAAAAAAAAAs/G4ITBWtLMxk/s320/1st+time+touching.jpg" width="338" border="0" /&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;My first time touching him, if you can't tell, I am very scared.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112212044294124786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/RvI5xMSf9PI/AAAAAAAAAA0/M5QCd5Easfs/s320/Lion6.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As you can see, I am getting closer. the cockiness is setting in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112212710014055682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/RvI6X8Sf9QI/AAAAAAAAAA8/6GmopWn6Gls/s320/Walking+Lion.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;p align="center"&gt; Yes, I am walking him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112213702151501074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/RvI7RsSf9RI/AAAAAAAAABE/CLVFBYQfm8M/s320/nikkilion.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112214196072740130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/RvI7ucSf9SI/AAAAAAAAABM/V3PXKqLAdGg/s320/my+hand.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;The Next stop on my lovely trip was the Elephant Back Safari. Now this was definitely cool, but not as cool as the lion encounter. Really, how many time do people go on Safaris, let alone elephant back safaris. We didn't see any animals, but it was fun. My favorite part was getting on and off. Anyway, I will let the pictures speak for themselves:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112215626296849714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/RvI9BsSf9TI/AAAAAAAAABU/VbVNkTckUlo/s320/Elephant+1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112215634886784322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/RvI9CMSf9UI/AAAAAAAAABc/nVLEtDIKP-s/s320/Elephant+2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112215639181751634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/RvI9CcSf9VI/AAAAAAAAABk/v564gtaaoEM/s320/humping+elephant.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This will have to be it for right now.  My battery is about to die.  But, there will be more tomorrow.  The restaurant we went to was amazing, and also very blog worthy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7210426916387153818-209423597607679535?l=nikkiinafria.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nikkiinafria.blogspot.com/feeds/209423597607679535/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7210426916387153818&amp;postID=209423597607679535' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7210426916387153818/posts/default/209423597607679535'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7210426916387153818/posts/default/209423597607679535'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nikkiinafria.blogspot.com/2007/09/zim-trip-part-1.html' title='Zim Trip Part 1'/><author><name>Nikki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08053859117775353873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_JW5QpO5TN2A/RvI2C8Sf9KI/AAAAAAAAAAM/AWDAtfYr9xw/s72-c/1sr+night+dinner.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7210426916387153818.post-67296988159046017</id><published>2007-09-13T03:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-13T03:56:23.425-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Typical Day in Africa</title><content type='html'>I have had some requests for a typical day for me here in Zambia including specific details. So, here it goes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6:55 -I wake up. I get up out of my double bed, along with two of the other volunteers. One is really laid back and cool, and the other really sucks. She is pompous and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;condescending&lt;/span&gt;. Anyway, I go down stairs and eat breakfast, which usually consists of cereal and whole milk (I have gotten used to it.). I sit and talk with my cute new gay friend, Steven. We usually talk about how really really miss cleanliness, and Whole Foods. Then, I go get dressed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7:30- The van comes and picks us up and takes us to the various schools. Mine is the furthest, so I chat with the driver, Joseph and the various other people that tag along. This could be anyone from the driver's friends, to the coordinator, to other volunteers. There are no paved roads, so the trip is extremely bumpy. It also consists of a lot of waving because the people aren't used to seeing a bunch of white people on a bus. They stare and wave a lot, so we wave back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7:45-11:20- I teach 5&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; grade at the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Mwandi&lt;/span&gt; Community School. My teacher's name is Zack, and he is very welcoming. It's just hard to watch him teach in a way that is so different from how I did, I teach English and Literacy, and I am trying to spice it up a bit because the way they he was doing it was really boring. I asked if it would be alright if I added some stuff I learned, and he was totally fine with it. I love all the kids even though they are really shy. I still think it will be a while till they warm up to me. The classroom itself is not like any classroom I have ever taught in. It's the size of my bedroom and has stuff piled in the back. There are no posters or work on the walls, which I hope to change soon. Another thing that was tough to get used to was the fact that Zack hits the kids as a punishment. If they misbehave, he will take a wooded board eraser, make them stick out there hands, and hits them really hard. We were told not to do or say anything f this happens because it's part of there culture. Also, they do a lot of singing, talking, reading about AIDS and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;abstinance&lt;/span&gt;. It was a little uncomfortable at first, but it makes sense considering it's one of the leading killers in Zambia. One of the reading passages had a picture of a prostitute and a coffin, and I just kept thinking to myself that this would never pass at Rainbow Valley.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:30-2:15- This is my lunch/break time. I usually come home, where our cook, Ivy, has set out stuff for tuna sandwiches. I am kind of getting sick of tuna sandwiches, but I eat them because she is the sweetest lady ever, and I don't want to hurt her feelings. After lunch, I go upstairs and put on my bathing suit, along with massive amount of jungle strength bug spray (no more bug bites). I lay out at the pool till it's time to go to the next project, or I go into town and blog from my favorite fly infested, wireless &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Internet&lt;/span&gt; cafe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2:15-4:30- These projects very. Some days you may do HIV Education in the rural communities, or farming, or home based care (which is basically where you go and visit patients who are HIV positive or who have TB, and just talk to them to see how they are), or adult literacy, or building. I did building today and it was dirty, but extremely fun. We are building places for the toilets at this mud hut school. I used a wheel &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;barrow&lt;/span&gt;, and mixed cement, and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;laid&lt;/span&gt; blocks. It got annoying using the spreader, so I started using my hands. It wasn't till about 45 minutes later, that I found out it was quick drying, and it wasn't a good idea to use my hands. They are a little dry now, but it was totally worth it. We finished early so we got to play with the school kids. I learned a new game called &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Sililo&lt;/span&gt; and got my ass kicked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4:30-7:00- We eat dinner and talk. Dinner usually consists of some sort sausage or beef (it's kind of gross, but again, I eat it to be nice). Occasionally, we will even play boggle!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7:00-till bed- This is when we go to a bar for a drink or two. Rhapsody's is often picked, but lately I really like going to The Rite Pub. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Every time&lt;/span&gt; we go I get a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Mosi&lt;/span&gt; (which is beer), and a waffle with ice cream. YUM.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So there it is my day, in a nut shell. I also wanted to share with all of you that they recently offered me a job to stay here as a coordinator. They want me to stay until January. But I think 5 months is a little long, even though I love it here. I said I would consider a month, but I have to check with my job at home, and see if my wonderful ex-roommates are willing to take Sammy just a bit longer. I am just wondering what my readers feel about this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One more thing...Update on my camera: I nixed the Rastafarian idea. But this adorable teacher at one of the schools named, Norbert, has a friend who will fix it. So we will see. Maybe there will be pics posted soon!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7210426916387153818-67296988159046017?l=nikkiinafria.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nikkiinafria.blogspot.com/feeds/67296988159046017/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7210426916387153818&amp;postID=67296988159046017' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7210426916387153818/posts/default/67296988159046017'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7210426916387153818/posts/default/67296988159046017'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nikkiinafria.blogspot.com/2007/09/typical-day-in-africa.html' title='A Typical Day in Africa'/><author><name>Nikki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08053859117775353873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7210426916387153818.post-2975760879569839527</id><published>2007-09-10T07:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-10T07:58:00.528-07:00</updated><title type='text'>First Full Day of Volunteering</title><content type='html'>(This was written last Friday. Also, I apologize for the misspelled words. This one is much better.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I had my first full day of volunteering yesterday. And I have to say it was an enlightening experience. In the morning I went to my school, which is called &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Mwandi&lt;/span&gt; Community School. The kids in the class were so sweet and eager to learn. It was hard not to feel sorry for them. There clothes looked like they hadn't been washed in months, and more than half didn't even have shoes. All the kids in my class are orphans who have lost their parents to AIDS. They are living with relatives in the community. This community is unlike any community I have ever seen. It's more like a compound. It basically is a 500 yard radius filled with tiny shacks made out of mud, sticks and fabric. My teacher took me on a tour of this place, and it was like a slap in the face. I have never seen anything like it in my life. It was dirty and there was trash strewn around everywhere. There were chicken roaming around, and starving dogs looking for food. I went around to talk to the locals, and the most surprising part of all of this, is that the people are happy. They are so welcoming, and are really cheerful and nice. At one point, my teacher took me to "the bar" of the community. It is basically a large mud hut. The people inside were drinking there local beer, which looks like mud water. They kept wanting me to try some, but it was just too much for me. Another funny thing, is that you don't realize that some of these kids have never seen a white person before. I was talking to this mom who had a one year-old and a two year-old. When these babies saw me, they ran screaming like I was the boogie monster. It made me a little sad, but if I had never seen a white person before, I would be scared too. In Zambia when the kids see a white person, they call them a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Mazungu&lt;/span&gt;. Another &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;volunteer&lt;/span&gt; and I have started a game kind of like punch buggy. When a Zambian calls you a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Mazungu&lt;/span&gt;, the other person gets to punch you in the arm. I will probably bruise from that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the afternoon I had sports coaching I was a little bit more at ease about it now that I had already gone. I ended up teaching the girls cheers back from from my Blue Vally Tiger days. But instead of coaching we ended up watching a soccer game between our kids and kids from another school. It was actually really &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;exciting&lt;/span&gt;. People were cheering, and doing flips &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;every time&lt;/span&gt; our kids scored. I took lots of pictures, but to the kids &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;disappointment&lt;/span&gt; they couldn't see what the picture looked like in the screen. They are so used to a white person with a digital camera, that they were pissed when they saw mine was disposable. During the game, I had my first experience with a public &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;African&lt;/span&gt; toilet. When I told the kids I had to pee, they just laughed. I finally found one and I made Steve and Matthew (two other volunteers) come with me. Some nice girls that lived in the church let me use theirs. It was very disgusting, but I am very proud of myself for getting through it. Afterwards, I had a nice chat with the girls and I let them have my hand sanitizer. They had never heard of it before, and couldn't &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;believe&lt;/span&gt; that something cleaned your hands without soap and water. We started to walk to the bus when I saw three kids begging for a box of cookies from a stand on the side of the road. I bought them each something, and you would have thought I had just given them a thousand dollars.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel very strange here. It's great being able to help people and do these amazing activities, but at the same time it hard to feel good when you are working with kids who don't even have shoes. And then twenty minutes later you are booking 100 dollar safaris.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7210426916387153818-2975760879569839527?l=nikkiinafria.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nikkiinafria.blogspot.com/feeds/2975760879569839527/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7210426916387153818&amp;postID=2975760879569839527' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7210426916387153818/posts/default/2975760879569839527'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7210426916387153818/posts/default/2975760879569839527'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nikkiinafria.blogspot.com/2007/09/this-was-written-last-friday.html' title='First Full Day of Volunteering'/><author><name>Nikki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08053859117775353873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7210426916387153818.post-110981913789717721</id><published>2007-09-09T06:56:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-09T06:58:33.255-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Language, Bugs, and Rhapsody's</title><content type='html'>(This was written a couple days ago,but I just now have time to post it.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Doesn't this title sound like a great band name?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am on day three of my trip, and I am in love with this place! It took me a little bit to get used to it, but now that I am, I am really happy I did this. Today I had my language lesson. Apparently, English is the official language but they also speak Chinyania. The nice man, Lazerus, taught us such phrases as, "Mwauka Bwangi" which means "Good Morning", but you say this when addressing an older person. The best part about it was when he was exlaining this phrase he kept refering to my pompous roommate Karen as an elderly person.The best part is, is that she is only 42. I was laughing so hard (on the inside), I thought I was going to burst! Other important phrases I learned today included, "Ndiwe ndani zina?", which means "What is your name?" And my absolute favorite phrase, that was so important they had to include it in the lesson, "Nizingati Moba?", which means "How much for a beer?" All in all, it was a very succesful lesson.&lt;br /&gt;Last night, I went to Rhapsody's again. This time all the houses went, and it was a lot of fun getting to know all these people. I did meet a couple of locals, one of which had a digital camera. I figured if he has a digital camera, there has to be a place around here to fix it. So I asked him where I could get mine fixed, and this is what he said, "Go to Shamba's and ask for the rastafarrian with dreads." I thought this statement sounded a little strange, but I thought maybe Shambas was a camera store and the rasta man was really good at fixing cameras. Well today, I was going through town and I saw Shambas. To my surprise, it was not a camera store, but in fact a crappy looking fast food restaurant. So this incident has taught me a lesson. Always double check before you take the advice of Zambian locals.&lt;br /&gt;I know earlier in this blog I said I love this place, and I really do, but there is one thing I DO NOT like about Zambia. The f-ing bugs. They are not like humungous and gross like I thought they would be. They are actually just flys and mosquitos, but they are super annoying. First of all the flys are EVERYWHERE. And these are not just normal flys, they are called Puchi Flys. These wonderful things, make nests in your wet clothes when they are drying outside. The only way to get rid of the nests are to iron the clothes. If the clothes aren't ironed then they will lay the eggs in your skin. HOW GROSS IS THAT?! So, I just need to make sure that everything is ironed. The mosquito's are equally as aweful. They have been eating me alive. I have like twenty and it's only the third day. For some reason they only like my blood. I thought I wasn't using strong enough repellant, so I swiched to really strong stuff. But these are munant mosquitos, so it doesn't help. The worst part is, is that my luck with random illnesses is not very good. So I am pretty convinced I will get Malaria by the time I leave.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7210426916387153818-110981913789717721?l=nikkiinafria.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nikkiinafria.blogspot.com/feeds/110981913789717721/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7210426916387153818&amp;postID=110981913789717721' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7210426916387153818/posts/default/110981913789717721'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7210426916387153818/posts/default/110981913789717721'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nikkiinafria.blogspot.com/2007/09/language-bugs-and-rhapsodys.html' title='Language, Bugs, and Rhapsody&apos;s'/><author><name>Nikki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08053859117775353873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7210426916387153818.post-2118456537006368883</id><published>2007-09-05T08:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-05T08:53:12.472-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nikki in...a really bad mood.</title><content type='html'>First off, let me just state the reason why this aweful mood.  Everything was great, fantastic even.  I was planning on doing some blogging with some pictures attached.  Then, I tried to turn on my camera and the lens was jammed.   In America, this wouldn't have been a problem.  I could have just gone to the camera shop, and that would be that.  Well in Zambia they have other things to worry about, so no camera shop.  So I have to inform all you loyal readers, there will be no pics for a while.  What I am going to do is take pictures with a disposable, and have the photo people (they do have photo shops) print me off a CD.  Then I will do posts with pictures.  I am still really mad though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, now that I have vented....I am here!  It took me a freaken long time to get here but I am here.  I arrived yesterday at about one.   Let me tell you, what I pictured Africa to be like in my head, and how it really is, are COMPLETEY different.  I got of the plane in Zimbabwe, and you know what it reminded me of?  Kansas in the winter, except hot.  There are no leaves on any trees, and everything is dried up.  I guess that's why they call it, "the dry season".  I was so nervous getting off the plane I was shaking.  I was nervous about many things.  One thing in particular, my luggage.  But everything made it safe and sound.  Some nice people from African Impact picked me up with a sign and everything.  By the way, the sign read NICOLE DEDARINILLI.  I swear to god.  I had to make a few stops at some borders and pick up some visas, and I was on my way.  On the way there I saw baboons actually (you know the ones with bare red asses) walking on the side walk!  I was freaking out.  The people of Zambia just ignored this odd sight as if these monkeys were pedestrians.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, I arrived at the house and met all my roomies.  Everyone is super friendly, and they are all British, except for one, who is from Santa Monica.  It was pretty strange, but it was comforting to have someone here that knows my home.  Anyway, last night all of us went to a bar called Rhapsody's.  Now, to understand how weird this place is I have to explain a few things about Livingston.  First of all, the tourist book calls this the second biggest city in Zambia, which I think is misleading to Americans.  Basically it is a street of shops (with no air conditioning), surrounded by dirt roads and villages.  Now this place Rhapsody's, is about five minutes away from this street.  It is like someone took a strip mall out of Overland Park and dropped it in the middle of these dirt roads and villages.  I mean this strip mall even has a Subway.  Apparently, they go to this place for Happy Hour three or four times a week.  It makes sense though.  I can imagine after working in these villages, it's nice to go someplace, un-Livingstone like. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I start my volunteering tomorrow.  In the afternoon I am teaching soccer to some of the village kids...that will be interesting.  And then , this Saturday we are going on a booze cruise down the Zambizi River.  I will keep you all updated, ans as soon as my disposable camera runs out I will post pictures.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7210426916387153818-2118456537006368883?l=nikkiinafria.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nikkiinafria.blogspot.com/feeds/2118456537006368883/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7210426916387153818&amp;postID=2118456537006368883' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7210426916387153818/posts/default/2118456537006368883'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7210426916387153818/posts/default/2118456537006368883'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nikkiinafria.blogspot.com/2007/09/nikki-ina-really-bad-mood.html' title='Nikki in...a really bad mood.'/><author><name>Nikki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08053859117775353873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7210426916387153818.post-965050287832007388</id><published>2007-09-03T04:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-03T07:32:16.085-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nikk In London (Actually Heathrow Airport Area)</title><content type='html'>So here I am...by the Heathrow Airport. I am a little disappointed. I got of the airplane at 11:30 last night. It was a little hectic. I tried to catch the Hotel Hoppa. (I don't know if they call it "hoppa" because that's how you would say "hopper" with a british accent?) I missed the last bus by 5 minutes. It would have cost me 4 pounds, but instead I had to take a cab that cost me 15 pounds which is like 38 bucks. What a rip off! It took like 5 minutes. Anyway, I tried to talk to the cab driver, but he chose to ignore me. I kept asking questions about the city, but he decided that the best way to make me be quiet was to just pretend I didn't exist. I arrived at the hotel and the room was the size of my bathroom. I found this quite interesting because in the picture on the internet it looked huge. I think they might have posted a picture of the presidential suite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My plan today was to wake up really early and go see the sights of London. My sister informed me that the tube was cheap and would get me where I needed to go...Well. It didn't really work out that way. I woke up at noon, and then I found out that the Tube workers are going on strike today. So, plans change. I ended up eating breakfast (14.95 pounds for cereal, a banana, and a muffin. You do the conversion), watching Ugly Betty, and playing on the internet in the hotel lobby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One thing I do have to say about the London people is that they are so interesting. I think this may be to do the fact that they all have fantastic accents, which just makes me want to listen to what they have to say. When I was talking to the internet guy on the phone, I didn't want to hang up.  I just wanted to chat.  I think he thought I was crazy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I am off to the airport. I fly to Munich, then Frankfurt, then Johannesberg, then Victoria Falls. I will post again soon with pictures (I don't know of what yet). Maybe I will do a post dedicated to the airports of the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the way, Wade-I think you would really like it here. The only thing on TV in this country is Soccer. I am serious...Every channel!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7210426916387153818-965050287832007388?l=nikkiinafria.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://nikkiinafria.blogspot.com/feeds/965050287832007388/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=7210426916387153818&amp;postID=965050287832007388' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7210426916387153818/posts/default/965050287832007388'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7210426916387153818/posts/default/965050287832007388'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://nikkiinafria.blogspot.com/2007/09/nikk-in-london-actually-heathrow.html' title='Nikk In London (Actually Heathrow Airport Area)'/><author><name>Nikki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08053859117775353873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry></feed>
