I consider myself to be a (math) nerd with the best of them, so I had extra incentive to sign up for the I Heart Nerds 5K (aside from just wanting to run a 5K). The inaugural event took place Sunday morning in Marymoor Park in Redmond, which I had never visited in my 5+ years here. Probably because it's on the Eastside and is both a lake AND a toll away from Seattle.

The race started at 9AM, so I got up a bit before 7 and had an egg and toast, got ready to go, and coasted traffic-free over to the Eastside. There was plenty of parking for $1 at Marymoor Park and the race, which began and ended at the climbing wall, was easy to find. When I arrived, the D20 Brass Band ("Seattle's Nerdfunk Street Band") was warming up in the parking lot, which added a festive air to the proceedings.

I checked in and got my I Heart Nerds T-shirt ("You're not looking very nerdy", the guy at check-in told me admonishingly. I told him when you're as nerdy as I am, you don't need to flaunt it!) I had time to do my hair, hit the (actual, non-Porta-potty) bathrooms, and then do a quick mile-ish warmup and a few strides before the start of the race. I ran into my former housemate Clara, who had biked over to watch the race. Somewhere in there I realized, first, that I hadn't gotten my chip timer, and second, that there was no mat which meant there was no chip timing at all. Not what I was expecting (and I heard a few people grumbling about it), but I had my Garmin so at least I could keep track of myself.

About 400-ish people lined up for the start. The announcer asked us to line up "runners, then joggers, then walkers", which gave me a flash of irritation and then confusion: I'm not speedy but do consider myself to be a runner, so then what? I tried to line up among people wearing about the same amount of running attire as I was (about a third to a half of the way back). And we were off! I started strong, and Garmin clocked the first mile in 9:03, feeling pushed but strong, despite it feeling significantly hotter than when I usually run (it was NOT Oklahoma hot but I've become a PNW wimp and feel sapped by nearly any blazing sun).

About halfway through the second mile, though, I got a horrible side stitch and had to walk for a bit (actually, it was a side stitch/overfull stomach one-two punch; I could have dealt with the latter but not the former). I resumed running but had to walk several more times before trudging to the finish line. I finished in 30:27 (9:45/mile), according to my Garmin, which was a disappointment but understandable because of 1) side stitch, 2) weather, and 3) eating too much/too close to racing. I was disappointed that I hadn't had the mental toughness to keep going, but honestly in those moments I thought I would throw up and couldn't think of anything except stopping. Luckily, this race was mostly a check-in for me on the way to the Green Lake Gobble in November, so I have a clear idea of areas to focus on before then!   

In terms of the race itself, here is my list of what worked and what didn't:

PROS:

• D20 marching band! They were festively dressed and as funky as they claimed to be. They played at the beginning (which pumped everyone up) and at the end (when I was already deflated and didn't notice). Probably my favorite aspect of the race.
• Cost. Race was pretty cheap -- I think I paid $30, but saw that many people had taken advantage of an Amazon Local deal, which was probably much less. 
• Location. Marymoor Park is beautiful and flat, and I (mostly, see below) liked racing there very much. 
• The race started on time, precisely at 9AM.
• Free cookies! OK, these were from a vendor and not actually from the race, which only provided small bottles of water post-race. This probably is more of a neutral, but I felt like I should include it somewhere...

CONS:

• No chip timing. This was advertised as a "timed" race, but turned out to be only "gun-timed". I suppose it is my own fault for assuming that it would be chip-timed, but I might not have participated if I had known this ahead of time. (My husband commented that it would have been much more nerdy for them to time things extra exactly -- maybe to the hundredths of a second or something...) 
• Gravel course. A short but not insubstantial portion of the course was over unpacked gravel that felt a bit like running on sand -- I was not a fan.
• Start time. In my opinion, a race in August should have an earlier start time. Even 8 or 8:30AM would have kept us out of direct sunshine for a greater portion of the race (good for vampires like me).

All in all, it was neither my favorite race nor my favorite racing day, but after a very little post-race moping, by the end of the day I was again grateful for a body that can run and the opportunity and will to keep improving! 5K, I'll be back!

Last week's session on negotiation in a statistical career covered a broad range of situations in which negotiations skills might come in handy. The four panelists -- Nandini Kannan (UT San Antonio), David Madigan (Columbia), Nancy Reid (UToronto), and Kelly Zou (Pfizer) -- brought a wealth of experience in both academia and industry to the discussion. I summarized the first part of the session, about negotiating an initial salary, here. The remainder of the session took the form of scenarios posed by the moderator, Paula Roberson (UArkansas for Medical Sciences), in which negotiation might be needed.

Scenario 1: Negotiating pausing the tenure clock. This scenario can apply either to having children or to taking care of an elderly parent. Some institutions have formal agreements already in place with respect to the tenure clock, but if not, you might need to negotiate. In general, the same advice as for salary negotiations applies: just ask, and don't worry about figuring out if you'll get it or not. NR commented that it's the university's job (and in their best interest) to make sure that you can do your job well. Plus, she says, everyone wants women on their statistics faculty -- and if they don't, come to Canada! :) (NB: one special situation to note is that in Canada, if you take your first job just before finishing your thesis, the first year does not count against the tenure clock.)

DM also shared the experience of having an incoming faculty member negotiating to come up for tenure early. Don't do this! You are only negotiating against yourself. If you are successful early, go up for tenure early, but don’t negotiate it into your contract at the outset.

Scenario 2: Negotiating for a reduction of workload for major professional/service organization duties. What is appropriate here seems to be a bit greyer than in some scenarios, and depends highly on what the scope of the work is. Called to become the editor of JASA? Absolutely ask for a reduction in workload (at least in the academic sphere), since it's a major responsibility that also brings honor to your institution and department. Organizing a conference? Perhaps less reasonable to ask for a reduced workload. If you have a clear sense of the value of the activity, you can make a case to the chair/dean. 

In industry, KZ noted that negotiating a reduction in workload might be reasonable if the activity is highly relevant to your assigned tasks at work. Many companies have yearly goal-setting or professional development plans; you can write these extra activities into your plan, and the achievements can show innovation and leadership. (But avoid the impression that you are overextending yourself). Extra care may be needed if you work in the financial sector, where regulation may limit your extracurricular activities.

Scenario 3: Negotiating sabbatical and/or extended leave. Sabbatical schedule is usually fairly straightforward with respect to university policy, but there may be negotiations about how much support is available while on sabbatical, or whether you are allowed to teach outside of your university. Extended leave (such as the program officer position at NSF held by NK for several years) can be harder -- while it can be a valuable experience that reflects well on you and the university, it may be hard to "replace" you (teaching-wise) while you are still on the rolls. Most importantly, make sure the review process (for promotion, merit raises, etc.) is clear before you leave. Will the extended leave be viewed as a positive? You likely won't have as much time for research while you are away.

Scenario 4: Negotiating workload (such as teaching release and for local service). When can you ask your dean or department chair for release time? Activities that will add value to your institution (and cannot be easily accomplished within the scope of your current duties) such as developing a new course or building a new program are most likely to be well-received. NK commented that minority and women faculty are often put on many committees (because it looks good) -- if this is the case you may be able to negotiate the 3 or 4 committees where you will have the greatest impact.

Scenario 5: Negotiating for support that will help in applying for grants (e.g., partial time for a programmer). DM reiterated here, once again, that if you don't ask for it, you won't get it! As long as you make a reasonable case, asking for this kind of support will not reflect badly on you. KZ mentioned the results of a Harvard study that found that women tended to receive smaller grants than men because they asked for less money. Make sure you ask for support if it's needed, and realize that you are setting the stage for future grants in asking for support for students, programmers, etc. (there may be internal grant funders at your institution that can provide this type of support). 

Scenario 6: Negotiating at the time of changing position within a company/institution. DM noted that there is diversity by institution here with respect to what is negotiable. Some roles (say, within the department) may be preset in terms of compensation and teaching relief; exterior roles within the larger university (e.g., faculty senate, committee on curriculum) may be invisible to the department and require more to make your work apparent in these areas. NK emphasized the importance of clarity on how accepting these leadership roles will affect your promotion. She recommended getting agreements in writing (deans change, and verbal agreements may not be honored), and trying to negotiate some time off to get research back on track after a heavy administrative duty such as department chair.

Scenario 7: Negotiating collaborative authorship and author position. The panelists agreed that, while potentially uncomfortable, it's best to discuss this up front (before a grant is submitted). Make sure to be listed as a co-PI or investigator, not just a consultant. Make sure you have publication rights, and make sure you are all on the same page as to the expectations for contributions for authorship.

Scenario 8: Negotiating with funding agencies about the terms of an award. Know that if you get funded, your proposed budget will be cut. But by calling the program officer, you may be able to mitigate the effects. Additional student support is the easiest to negotiate; salary is hardest, since NSF has set rules. The program officer may be able to offer suggestions (especially for women/minorities) on where else to seek funding. It can sometimes be a good idea to call the program officer (ask nicely!) at the end of the fiscal year, when they might have some extra money (e.g., for an extra student). [Ed: NK primarily has experience with NSF funding, but suggested that the same approach is possible with NIH awards.]

Scenario 9: Negotiating retirement. DM commented that in academia, there's a bias in favor of retirement because of the desire to renew and bring in new blood. That means there's often willingness to negotiate and make retirement attractive. Retirement plans in academia have become "ever more exotic" and may include financial incentives -- so be creative! In industry, a retirement plan might be possible, such as a gradual reduction of hours, or working with mentees for knowledge transfer before you leave. When layoffs are imminent, taking a retirement package may be an attractive option (make sure to negotiate having health care in retirement, if possible!).

And there's enough advice to take you from graduation to retirement! One final piece of advice, from my fabulous dissertation advisor Patrick Heagerty (who was recently named chair of UW Biostatistics): identify the things you NEED (versus the things you WANT), and make sure you negotiate so that you will have the tools/resources at your disposal to be successful in your job.

Disclaimer: All opinions expressed here are my own and do not necessarily reflect those of the American Statistical Association or the panelists. Some comments and questions have been summarized for content; I have tried to do this faithfully -- to the best of my ability -- but make no promises. 


Call for comments:

• What have been your (successful or unsuccessful) strategies for negotiation?  
• What are the areas of negotiation not covered by this panel, whether specific to a statistical career or not?

One the highlights of the 2014 Joint Statistical Meetings in Boston for me was attending a panel discussion on negotiation in a statistical career, from the initial job offer to negotiating leave and even retirement terms. While I am getting wonderful training in the theory and applications of (bio)statistics as part of my PhD program at the University of Washington, practical advice such as this is less common. The session was sponsored by the Joint Committee on Women in the Mathematical Sciences, among others, and though the advice given was applicable to all, the panel especially addressed issues of interest to women, who historically do less negotiating than men (to their professional detriment). 

The panel was moderated by Paula Roberson (PR), professor and chair of the biostatistics department at the University of Arkansas for Medical Sciences, and the panelists were:

• Nandini Kannan (NK), professor of statistics at the University of Texas at San Antonio and past/future program director at the National Science Foundation
• David Madigan (DM), professor of statistics, executive vice president, and dean of the faculty of Arts and Sciences at Columbia University
• Nancy Reid (NR), University professor of statistics at the University of Toronto
• Kelly Zou (KZ), director of statistics and statistics lead in market research at Pfizer

The morning began with a discussion of effective and ineffective negotiation techniques during the initial recruitment process. Here is a brief summary of the panel's dos and don'ts:

DO:

• Know the market. The ASA publishes surveys of salaries by sector every couple of years; these can help you get an idea of what salaries might be reasonable for someone with your experience (though location and cost of living should also be considered). Salaries in the academic arena will also differ by the type of institution (a large research institution may have more flexibility in salary than a teaching-focused college, for example) or by the kind of department (biostatistics vs. statistics vs. mathematics, etc.). Talking to friends who have gone through the process recently may be helpful; recruiters will likewise know the market well and can give you an indication of the prevailing winds. In evaluating salary offers, especially in industry, keep in mind that compensation may be a mix of base salary, bonuses, and stock options.    
• Think outside the box. Although it is often the focus, salary is not the only dimension worth considering. At academic institutions, the department's hands may be tied with respect to salary, but the department chair may have more flexibility with respect to physical space, teaching load, summer support, and/or startup packages. Even in government or industry, there may be non-monetary benefits such as telecommuting that can make a job more attractive.   
• Ask for what you think you deserve. Women especially tend to feel that negotiating will reflect badly on them, but it is expected, not adversarial. As NR explained, negotiating is really "a friendly exercise that is better for both of you". And it's OK to walk away from the offer if necessary.
• Realize you won't necessarily get everything you ask for. But you definitely won't get what you don't ask for. 
• Bring up the terms of a competing offer, where applicable. There is nothing inappropriate about this, and it can be a powerful tool (or a "reinforcement of your value", as DM said). Especially in university settings, there can be a staggering range in salaries -- at least a factor of two between the highest and lowest paid at the same level of responsibility! DM attributes this to both differences in negotiation at the outset, and to retention packages later in one's career. Bringing up another offer will be most effective when the jobs are similar in terms of location, desirability, and responsibilities. 

DON'T:

• Jump at the first offer. It smacks of desperation, and can indicate that you don't really know your own worth.
  
• Come with a "laundry list". Or be completely inflexible in negotiating.
• Negotiate against yourself. NR recommends resisting the temptation to jump to the end of negotiations ("Give me a number.") because of discomfort with the process of negotiation. Don't hand over your power immediately, and don't try to imagine what's going on in the other person's head ("can they afford this?", "who will teach this class if I don't?") - that's not your job in the negotiation process! 
• Take a job that will make you miserable. No matter the salary. 

The panel also addressed a number of specific situations later in one's career in which negotiation techniques might be needed, but I'll save these for another post. 

Disclaimer: All opinions expressed here are my own and do not necessarily reflect those of the American Statistical Association or the panelists. Some comments and questions have been summarized for content; I have tried to do this faithfully -- to the best of my ability -- but make no promises.

In the last few months I have slowly become a bit more serious about running. First I bought a Garmin to entertain my data-loving mind, then I took up speed work and tempo runs for fun courtesy of the FIRST training program, and these days I am rarely without some sort of Oiselle dud on my body (whether running or not). To top it off, I recently married a Very Serious Runner. So when my husband Greg told me that reading Once a Runner by John L. Parker, Jr., was the thing that separated Very Serious Runners from non-serious runners, I knew I had to read it.

Only the Very Serious and the Very Fast need apply.

Part of the allure of reading Once a Runner comes from its pedigree. After self-publishing the book in 1978, Parker sold the book out of his trunk at races for years. Runners ate up the detailed descriptions of training regimens and the inner life of an elite distance runner, and, once the book was out of print, copies of it eventually sold for hundreds of dollars on eBay. (Fear not! These days it can be bought for more normal prices, thanks to a new edition published in 2010.) 

Once a Runner tells the story of elite miler and college student Quenton Cassidy, who wants to run a sub-4:00 mile and qualify for the Olympics. He chases this goal despite the best efforts of several Anti-Runners (a slimy university president! a thick-headed and inept football coach!). I enjoyed the book most when it stuck to Quenton's training, describing grueling workouts, the feeling of effortless running, or the mindless phrases/song snippets that can get stuck in a runner's head. I enjoyed the book least whenever Quenton stopped running. Good thing it was a book about running. 

They say there's nothing like a great novel. And this is nothing like a great novel. Parker's prose is often clumsy; as this Slate review summarized, "it frequently reads like the work of an eighth-grader going through his Beat phase". There's not much of a plot. Bit players with elaborate back stories are introduced only to disappear by the following scene. Parker himself describes his writing process as "cutting the top off my head and pouring out everything about running that was in there". This is the Technicolor version of Parker's life: the story as he wished it had been, where runners are clever and heroic, and university administrators are evil plotters at worst and hapless dupes at best. To me, there is something tender and raw about seeing someone's fictional best self. Taken in this way, it feels petty and a little unkind to poke fun at the book.

On the other hand, John L. Parker, Jr. started this rumble. My tl;dr summary of the book is as follows:

• Runners are special, otherworldly beings.
• Runners cannot be understood by any person with double-digit body fat percentage.
• And don't even think about trying to date a Runner. 

In this idealized world, Parker seems to be enamored of running fast to the exclusion of all else. Quenton's "inverted teardrop" thighs are lovingly and repeatedly described; when not running, Quenton enjoys staring at his single-digit-body-fat self in the mirror (seriously -- in great contrast to Parker, *I* think an author should only get to use the phrase "fluted lines" once per book.). In the voice of Quenton, he describes how a slower runner is not worthy to launder the jockstrap of someone faster. In the author's view, "runners" resemble "joggers" (described variously as "huffing fatties" and "aging road runners") "only in the sense that a puma resembles a pussy cat". It is clear which type of feline Parker considers himself -- the first edition of the book even listed Parker's own PRs(!).

For me, Parker's snobbery about running -- especially read in 2014 -- is too much to bear. As Parker himself writes about running, "the Secret is that there is no Secret". The only thing necessary to be a runner? Running. That's all. I will never have single-digit body fat and I will never run a 4:00 mile (or a 6:00 mile, or possibly an 8:00 mile, for that matter). But I am still a runner. And I can train hard and be my best self and #fangirl all the amazing strong and fast runners that come across my path. Without laundering a single jockstrap. One of the things I love about Oiselle (other than their amazing clothes) is how they embody this philosophy, simultaneously celebrating fast, competitive women AND the larger running community (no matter how fast).

In response to all my raging, Greg (an accomplished runner himself, if several jockstraps below both the protagonist and the author) reasonably pointed out that distance running WAS a very strange thing to do in the 1970s. When runners read this book, they felt like they were finally understood. Point taken. But all in all, in 2014, I prefer to stand on the side of community, support, and inclusiveness.

As a coda, I have two more possibly relevant tidbits to add. One is that I have to admit that, despite all the complaints above, I did read the recently published sequel to Once a Runner, Again to Carthage (more readable, yet with all the pomposity you know and love). And Greg and I now regularly make references to the pair of books. So JLP must have done something right?

Second, I saw this advertisement the other day on Facebook:

Clever hacks, by John L. Parker, Jr.

"Miles of trials" (though not "miles of smiles"!) is a direct quote from the book. Impossible as it may seem, thirty-five years after it was published, Once a Runner has gone mainstream.

Last Saturday I ran the Seattle Rock and Roll half-marathon, my third attempt at the distance. My three brothers and Greg's brother-in-law Fred were all running, too, so it was quite the family affair. I was excited for the race, since I had trained fairly seriously using a modified version of the FIRST plan (I generally ran five days a week, not three, adding two easy runs to what they prescribe). For the first time I had incorporated both speedwork and tempo runs into my training, and was eager to see the race results.

True, some might say I followed an unconventional tapering strategy going into the race. Instead of relaxing and putting my feet up for the week before the race, I got married! Totally worth it. :) And I did wear comfortable shoes for the ceremony and reception. The week actually wasn't stressful so much as very busy, and the cumulative lack of sleep caught up with me when I woke up Friday morning with that pre-cold feeling in my throat. I dragged myself to the expo Friday afternoon to pick up my bib, ($20 for expo parking? My cheapskate grad student heart died a little.) and I took Friday night off from the bustle of friends and family and sacked out early, trying to head off the post-wedding/pre-race illness.

Queen for a day, happy as can be with a Viking at my side and my comfy blue shoes on.

 When I woke up Saturday morning, I honestly could not remember why I had set my alarm for 5AM, let alone that I was running a race in a few hours (thank you, Nyquil!). I didn't feel too bad, throat-wise, but was very sleepy and not firing on all cylinders. I quickly threw on my clothes, tossed some possible necessities (Body Glide, water, arm warmers, extra layer, hairbrush) into my bag, and gobbled down a scrambled egg and tortilla. We picked up the brothers three and their entourage from their place and headed downtown around 6AM.

Parking was crowded, but we eventually found spots in a lot just across the street from the finish (score!). I took a 20-minute power nap in the car to rid my head of the cobwebs, then headed to the start. A less-Nyquil-ed me would probably have been freaking out about the late time, but I was starting waaaay back (Corral 20) so I knew it was fine to be a few minutes late. The line for the Porta-potties was intimidating as always, but I found a no-line bathroom! OK, it was four flights up in Seattle Center House -- but I just considered it my warmup.   

A quick kiss from Greg and a promise to see me at mile 10, and I was off! I didn't feel so fantastic as I had on some of my training runs, but the legs basically did what they were supposed to, and the miles were ticking off pretty evenly. The last two half-marathons I have done I died late in the race, so I focused on running the early miles conservatively as an extended warmup and consciously slowed down a few times. Another difference: I tried smiling and running more bouncy when I saw a camera -- not sure I've ever taken a great race photo but here's to trying!

A photo almost good enough to shell out $24.95! Too bad I already spent it on RnR expo parking.

I was running well and easy; it was a gorgeous day and the mountain was putting on a show as we ran down Rainier. Greg checked in with me around mile 7, then ran ahead to mile 10, where the plan was for me to put on my veil and run in together. Bridesmaid and "best dudette" Jackie was supposed to run with me miles 7-10, but she missed me and ended up doing repeated sprints trying (unsuccessfully) to find tall ladies who looked like me.

Around mile 8 or 9, as we ascended to the I-90 express lanes tunnel, I could feel some tightness in my legs and things got a little less easy, but I focused on making it strong to mile 10 where Greg was waiting. When I got there, he was waiting shirtless (easier for running) with a little black bowtie on -- a bit like a Chippendale. :) I took about 30 seconds to walk and put my veil on, and then we started back up again. I was very tired but concentrated on continuing to run, and was fed by the extra veil-related cheers from onlookers and runners alike. Several people wanted to chat about the wedding, but I made Greg field those conversations since I didn't have a lot of extra energy at that point. 

From the 12 mile marker on, it felt like the race did an extra lap of Seattle (Greg did not confirm this, though he agreed that it felt a bit longer than 1.1 miles to the finish). I tried to embrace the fatigue, and I had a distinct mental image of running hero Lauren Fleshman beckoning me further and further into the pain cave. I tried to trust my training. I tried to remember that I can be OK even when breathing hard. I tried to remember all those track workouts and tempo runs that felt like I would never be able to run again. I even had (barely) enough juice to run hard those last 400m (one lap around the track, no prob, right?). When I crossed the finish line, one of the volunteers said, "Are you OK?" and as I nodded yes, I didn't even realize it was a fellow former UW Biostat student until she said so.

Deep in the pain cave, courtesy of Fleshman Flyer

After stumbling toward some water, Gatorade, and chocolate milk, I found Greg and we headed back to the car to wait for the brothers. They did fantastic! Murray (2:01:34) and David (1:49:30) both had PRs, and Paul and Fred finished in 2:01:11 and 1:42:37, respectively. A great end to a great week for all. 

I feel deeply satisfied with my effort and race, and my finishing time of 2:25:17 -- more than a 6 minute PR! More than the time, I was especially pleased with my mental toughness and not walking except to put on my veil, a big difference from the previous two half-marathons. I didn't end up meeting either A (sub 2:20) or B (sub 2:22:32, Greg's marathon PR) goals, but I'm not too disappointed -- I gave it my all on the day. And I'll be back.

The siblings Z, post-race.

 

It has been a quiet week here at Bushbaby, and there hasn't been much of interest to any but the most diehard mbira fanatics -- which is part of why I haven't posted recently. The other part is that I've been busy learning mbira, which requires lots of practicing, especially to keep them straight as the parts pile up. Here's a quick summary of the week:

Monday was a teaching day with mbira maker Gift Rushambwa. He is another amazing mbira player and a very good teacher, and taught us parts for a version of Nhema musasa yepasi. He's also a colorful character, and liked interacting with the students even with limited English. Somewhat less desirably, he also enjoyed, say, 6 or 7 beers over the course of the late afternoon/early evening, so by the time he got to playing with the students, he was somewhat less charming. For me, he stopped me in the middle of playing Dande to tell me the part I was playing (which I had learned from a teacher earlier in the workshop) was not good on nyamaropa tuning. During playing with Pablo, he stopped altogether and left (maybe to pee? Who knows) for 10 minutes (a somewhat perturbed looking Erica took over). Humph.

Gift talks to Gulla, pre-beer

Things were calmer on Wednesday when mbira maker Josephat Mandaza came and taught us a singing song, Tambarara... (The name is much longer but I have forgotten the rest), about dealing with a troublesome person in the village. Mandaza turned out to be an amiable guy and another good teacher (although the song he taught was not too difficult).

From left: Gulla, Erica, Mandaza, and Professor Peter, on the steps where we have lessons

Today is the last teaching day, and we have been learning different parts to Nhema musasa from the Pamuchakata Mbira Group, a rocking group from Chiweshe made up of two fathers and two sons. It has been another head stuffing day -- in addition to the four parts I learned from them this morning, I also leaned a few parts late yesterday from Erica and Gulla which are also taking up some real estate in my short term memory. But I figure it's the last day; I might as well go big.

Pamuchakata rocks out on the teaching steps

Tomorrow is my last day in Zimbabwe. There will be a party (barbecue, really) during the day, for us students and for all the teachers we have seen these two weeks, plus a few others. The guest list reads like a who's who in mbira: Fradreck Mujuru, Matemai Newton Gwara, Leonard Chiyanike, among others. Should be a fun time with lots of good food and even better music!

(When I left off yesterday, we had just arrived at Dzivaguru, home to ancient spirit mediums...)

When we stepped off the bus, the first person to meet us was a silent but perfectly friend man in navy scrubs who shook everyone's hand in turn. It took me a few beats to notice the chain and padlock that looped around his two ankles and one wrist. I had a visceral reaction to the sight of a black man in chains, but Erica quietly explained to me that sometimes psychotic people are brought to live at Dzivaguru short-term while being treated, and the chains are for their protection.

After the food and the offerings we had brought were taken in, we were allowed to enter the shrine. We stopped at the entrance, women kneeling on one side and men squatting on the other. The men clapped seven times and the women ululated; this was repeated three times. After the third time, we heard responding ululation from inside; this was a welcome and our signal to enter.

The shrine area is really beautiful; it's at the base of an enormous granite mountain with granite out toppings everywhere in the village. It's so peaceful there, very quiet and amazing to think that things were essentially the same there 100, or 200, years ago. We walked past the granite outcroppings to a (open-air) ceremonial hut made of poles with a thatched roof. We entered and sat on the stone floor (women and men on opposite sides) with our mbiras. We greeted individually the many spirit mediums who came in, who were draped in long fabrics and wore beads to show that they had a spirit.

Then we played mbira for them -- Nhema musasa and Shumba and Kariga Mombe and Taireva. We were a bit limited in that we were on different sides of the room, so it was hard to hear one another, but people clapped and eventually someone brought hosho, so it was all right. I think our playing was well-received, as evidenced by the ululations and a few people dancing.

The thing that was most difficult for me was sitting on the hard stone floor. Decorum demands that women sit with legs straight out in front; tradition also required us not to lean against the wooden poles. As an exercise (and I do mean EXERCISE), I challenge anyone reading this to sit on a concrete floor with legs outstretched. Not so bad? See how long you can do that before the nerve in your lower back starts to scream, before your feet go numb, or before your hamstrings ache. After a couple of hours, I was dying to get up and move around (but couldn't). For me, when we were not playing, I tried to pass some of the pressure to my arms by pushing them against the ground. Today my arms, hammys, and especially the very tops of my thighs are incredibly sore... Will the "Zimbabwean burn" become the next workout craze? ;)

Finally we went back outside the shrine for a bathroom break and snacks. Then we filed back in, ate some food they had prepared for us (from the clay bowls, no utensils), and then went to the area for drumming and dancing.

There was a big group of people assembled in a ring, men on one side, women on the other. The drummers (all men) sat on a log; usually one or two men or women would dance into the circle and show off some traditional dancing, then back out. Some people carried ceremonial objects like an axe; one man who I think had a python spirit carried a staff with a snake carved into it. The dancers were dressed in black and white (except for a few spirits of njuzu or others requiring color). The dancing was really fantastic, and I'm so sorry it was inside the shrine since it meant we couldn't take pictures. I'm told Erica has made a DVD (made outside the shrine) of them dancing and drumming that she sells on MBIRA.org, which I may need to check out.

Some of the adult dancers and spirit mediums

Later there was more dancing, first from the foreigners (actually, maybe a good thing about the no cameras!), then from the teenagers, and finally from the littlest kids. I was amazed by how early they have acquired that loose-limbed grace I associate with African dance! But I suppose it's inevitable growing up with rhythm all around. There was one particularly impressive two-year-old who did virtually all the basic dance moves the adults did, and would use every part of her body. She was amazing! (Also amazing, a bit later I saw her having her mother tie a baby on her back to carry around -- impressive!!)

One of the younger dancers (and a son of the head medium), holding a ceremonial axe

We then got to play mbira again for the assembled crowd (our women got to be honorary men for the purposes of playing, crossing over to sit on reed mats in front of the drumming log). We played a long version of Nhema musasa to lots of drumming, dancing, hosho playing, and ululating. (Probably about 100 people there? Though only the 10-15 spirit mediums were dancing).

Then it was time to go talk to the spirit medium. I said my goodbyes, clapping and even curtsying, and walked off with my deze on my head, which I could tell the people were pleased by. We went over to the area for consultation with the oldest spirit. There were two logs, one for women and one for men. We played mbira for the spirit until a translator arrived (Patience had to leave early to return to Chinhoyi).

We were separated from the spirit by a small stone wall. He sat in a lean-to that was filled with drums, ceremonial objects, and offerings, including the ones we had brought. There were two assistants who sat just outside the shed. Charles, the caretaker at Bushbaby, translated for us.

We were each allowed to ask the spirit a question. For mine, I explained that I am getting married in June and I asked for prayers for a child. The spirit asked if I had been married before, if I had had any children, and if I had ever seen a doctor about it. I explained that I had never tried to have a child, and he asked what I was worried about. Erica explained that I wasn't worried, only maybe did not want to wait too long. The spirit laughed and said, "don't worry, the baby is on its way!" You heard it here first, folks! :) (Just kidding, Greg, Mom, Sue!)

It started to rain just as we finished talking to the spirit, so we made a fairly quick exit. We took a few quick photos outside the shrine, got on the bus, and drove back to Harare, tired, overwhelmed, but happy with the day.

Hamming it up at the photo shoot!

Today we went on an all-day field trip to a sacred shrine in Chiweshe called Dzivaguru. Home to many mediums for very ancient spirits, it acts as a sort of "referral hospital" for problems that cannot be solved by local traditional healers (n'anga). We were allowed to visit by special invitation of mbira player/teacher Patience Chaitezvi, whose mother was a spirit medium and who grew up at Dzivaguru. It was a real privilege to be allowed to go -- even most Zimbabweans are not allowed there.

Since it is a sacred place, there are many rules about dress and comportment while there. Here's a short, non-exhaustive list of the rules I can remember:

• Women must wear long skirts and loose-fitting, non-revealing tops. Men wear trousers that are then rolled up to just below the knee. Neither sex may wear red (since it reminds spirits of blood, and death), except as it occurs in special retso fabric, which is required by some spirits (including mbira spirits!).

• Women wear head wraps.

• No scented lotions, deodorants, toothpaste, shampoo, etc. is allowed.

• Nothing electronic or "modern" is allowed inside the shrine area -- cameras, watches, cell phones, etc. No money, either.

• No glasses.

• No metal, except for the metal on our mbiras/dezes (Patience also allowed me to take my metal mbira pick inside.) Inside the shrine people eat from and cook in clay pots, and make food with wooden utensils.

• No shoes allowed inside.

• No sex for 24 hours beforehand (there's a couple in our group; otherwise not an issue for us!)

• No women on their period (see blood, above).

• In traditional Zimbabwean society, it is a sign of respect not to look people in the eye... This is by far* the hardest rule to follow, since for Americans, looking someone in the eye conveys honesty, openness, and respect.

* My booty might answer differently after sitting on the ground all day...

The exterior of Dzivaguru; rules apply past the stone wall

The day started early, as we left Bushbaby at 5AM. Erica had rented a sweet mini-bus (like a hotel shuttle) for the 12 of us, which seems all the more luxurious since I know it would comfortably(?) fit 40 Zimbabweans. We dropped Tute Chigamba in Harare and picked up Patience. We headed out toward Chiweshe and passed through the zone where many embassies are located. I kid you not, the first five embassies I was were: Iran, Palestine, Algeria, Cuba, and China (I later also spotted Yugoslavia and the UK -- no sign of the US embassy, which is probably in a bunker somewhere...). Also peppered along Embassy Row were old campaign posters for Mugabe, with the slogan "Indigenize, empower, develop, employ".

The trip was uneventful, except that we were stopped several times by the police. Here they throw up "checkpoints" at random intervals, ostensibly checking that everything is up to code (which it never is) and really looking for bribes. Today, the driver was only forced to pay a bribe once (out of five), possibly because Erica or someone else would start playing mbira as we approached a checkpoint. Whether the intervention of the ancestors or the sheer novelty of a white person playing mbira, we were waved through after a short stop the other times.

A couple hour's journey brought us to the shops near Dzivaguru, where we bought rice, cooking oil, beef, and other essentials to take to the shrine. We also brought offerings that we (OK, really Erica, but we paid her back) had bought -- retso and other fabric and tobacco (chambwa) for making snuff (bute). The purpose of the offerings is to connect the giver to the shrine, so that you may always be included in their prayers. I'm a scientist and a Unitarian, but I guess I'll take that.

Tomorrow: part two -- drumming, dancing, and consulting the spirit...

I am sitting here on the veranda, with the sounds of mbira and softly falling rain in my ears. Each evening each student gets to play together with the visiting teacher (I got to play kutsinhira on just about the fastest version of Chipembere I have ever played). Just now Erica and "Samaita" Vitalis Botsa are playing Mbavarira together -- soothing and haunting both. Samaita (his clan name) was a longtime playing partner of Forward Kwenda's, and he has the same dreamy complicated style. It has been a treat (and a challenge!) to learn some more on both Chipembere and Chipindura from him today.

Lesson time!

Samaita plays on the veranda in the afternoon

Tomorrow my old friend Tute Chigamba will come to teach us a more complicated version of Nyuchi; between him and Samaita these will be the most mentally taxing days, to be sure. Saturday we will go to a sacred shrine; more on that later...

Today we had lessons from mbira maker and teacher Rinos "Simboti" Mukururirwa. I learned (for the moment, at least!) five different parts to Dande and I feel like my head is going to explode. Learning days are intense, but I feel like I should take advantage of the opportunity as much as possible. Still, thank goodness for a practice day tomorrow!!

Late afternoon photo shoot with Simboti

Like many mbira players here, Simboti uses "mawaya" -- homemade thumb picks made from whatever wire is handy!

Who says that there is no excitement in paradise? This morning around 5AM I was awoken by the insistent chirping of some wee beastie. Much as I tried to ignore it (I was locally famous at Williams for sleeping through blaring Mission fire alarms), the noise would not go away. I didn't really want to get up and deal with it, cozy as I was in my mosquito net.

At first I thought it was a mouse, then a bird. I heard one of the Argentineans murmur the word "murcielago", or "bat". I peered out of my door with my headlamp and spied something smallish perched on the curtain rod. We stared at each other for a few moments, and then it made an impressive jump from the curtain rod to the chair. Having recently read the excellent read "Outbreak", my head was filled with thoughts of bat-introduced infectious diseases, and decided to let the Argentineans deal with it. I closed my door and went back to the comfort of my mosquito net.

When I woke up, Pablo informed me that it had been a bushbaby! I feel lucky to have glimpsed it, however briefly, because they are very shy. It must have wandered in during  day when windows and doors are open and gotten trapped. Here's hoping for less excitement tonight!  

A quick disclaimer: overall my ability to communicate with family and friends while on the other side of the world has been much better than I anticipated. I spent the last few weeks before my trip mentally preparing myself for five weeks of social isolation and media blackout.

My fears were partially realized when I arrived and was told that the Zimbabwean postal service is nonfunctional and that no one receives mail at their house. So much for the carefully curated list of people I was going to send postcards. But I realized: the mbira makers send their instruments to the US somehow... When I passed by a post office in Mbare, I was further confused. The full(er) story appears to be this: packages (and postcards?) can be sent out of Zimbabwe, with insurance or other guarantees of delivery, but anything incoming is assumed to possibly contain something valuable and is unlikely to arrive at its destination intact. 

So it seems I could have send postcards? Though theoretically possible, I did not see anywhere selling postcards. And it would have been a real hassle to send them, even if I had. Friends and family instead got a "virtual postcard" from my trusty phone (probably more secure, too).

With I arrived here I was able to open a new Zimbabwean line for my iPhone ($1), buy a small amount of minutes ($5), and 500 MB of data ($20), all with one easy trip to the Econet store. And I was set.

Except for the challenge of finding phone/data coverage. The issue is somewhat more complicated than in the US... Not only do you need to find a place with adequate coverage, but also a time with adequate coverage. Early morning is excellent -- between 4 and 7, so I'm told. The local wisdom is that connections are difficult to come by when lots of people are using the network -- usual daytime hours during the week, especially in the evenings on the weekend. Other times might or might not be OK, but a matter of inches can be the difference between "successfully uploaded" and "no connection available". :(

Today was the retreat's first mbira teaching day, with a familiar face: Caution Shonhai. He taught us "Hata yeMhute", a song I had already learned when I was at his place. But I got to learn a few extras and practiced playing and singing (we also learned some nice singing for it, both Caution's and some of what my friend Langton Bapiro sung to it when he was recorded a few weeks ago). I am excited to get both Caution's and Bapiro's recordings when they are released by MBIRA!

Yesterday was introduction day, featuring (Tute's daughter) Irene Chigamba. She taught hosho, dance, and singing for "Nyuchi" (we'll be learning an advanced version from her father later in the week). Irene is a force of nature! And a wonderful teacher. I am about the most hopeless case when it comes to hosho, and she got me closer to playing than anyone has in six years of reluctant hosho classes. I wanted to give up almist immediately, but Irene would not let me --- even to the point of putting her arms around me and moving my arms/wrists in the proper way. I'm still not ready for primetime, but perhaps ready for some practice on my new hosho with a CD! :)(Greg/Phil/neighbors, be prepared...)

I'm sharing a hut with two superstars of the Argentina mbira scene, Pablo and Hernan. It is giving me a wonderful opportunity to practice my very rusty Spanish (though Pablo's English is very good). I find that the facility in speaking is coming back fast (I even dreamed in Spanish last night), but there are now great gaps in my vocabulary that once were not there. I'll have to see how much of that missing vocab returns with practice -- maybe not unlike the excavation of long-forgotten mbira parts that I like to do at mbira camp?

Serving a niche population, to be sure...

We arrived at Bushbaby Lodge early yesterday morning. Although it is not far from Harare distance-wise, it feels utterly remote -- not accessible by public transportation and no neighboring houses in sight. The "lodge" is actually a series of huts and other buildings. The centerpiece is the owner's house (off-limits to us) and the attached wide and deep veranda (where we eat meals and generally spend most of our time). It has a stunning west-facing view of the valley and a cool breeze can almost always be felt. The property is on a moderately steeply pitched hillside, so many of the huts are on different levels; the swimming pool is just below the veranda. I spent most of yesterday on the veranda reading, playing mbira, and staring out at the valley -- it's mesmerizing the way an ocean is. Erica's comment: "No wonder people wanted to steal this land."

I feel lucky to have arranged my trip the way I did -- being here feels like a real vacation, unlike some of my other Zim experiences (always eye-opening, sometimes hectic, not necessarily relaxing). Here I have a comfortable double bed, my own bathroom with hot water, and the hut even has a TV with cable! There's a rudimentary kitchen and a balcony, too. Of course, it's still Zimbabwe; the water pressure is terrible, I sleep with a mosquito net, and the roof is made of (fancy) thatch. 

One last piece of good news: lodgings here last night were less than I thought, as is the airport dropoff, so now I have $58 to my name here. I unexpectedly bought 3(!) new mbiras, so am running a bit short on cash. I still have a few more souvenirs to buy; my cash shortage gives added urgency to my negotiations in the market. Needless to say, no place outside the airport and a few fancy hotels accepts credit cards!

Those of you who have spent, oh, five minutes with me will know that I care a lot about food. So what is food like here, and how am I faring? Read on:

Breakfast:

Breakfast is a fairly modest meal here. In Harare, breakfast has been either eggs (hard boiled or scrambled) and possibly some bread, along with tea. I brought some ginger tea with me, which I've only had a couple of times because I've felt too hot to drink tea; Zimbabweans tend to drink either black or rooibos tea extremely well fortified with sugar. The last couple of days I've had "oats porridge", or oatmeal, with raisins and sugar and fresh mangos (the last two my additions). 

In Nyamweda, we ate hard-boiled eggs and corn porridge. I started trying to doctor the porridge as above (but with apples and almonds instead), but found that after a couple days I couldn't face corn porridge every day. For me, it was just too similar to the sadza that I was eating for (virtually every) other meal. Mai Lasson and Caution were very concerned when I stopped eating porridge, and engaged in a high-pressure campaign to make me eat more (of everything, but especially porridge).

Lunch:

Traditionally, I think people here tend to eat only two meals: a late breakfast (after working for a few hours) and the main meal late in the evening (after sundown). In Harare we have followed this schedule; in Nyamweda Mai Lasson (concerned that we weren't eating enough?) would prepare a smaller main meal usually consisting of rice and nyama (meat of some kind) along with some combination of tomato sauce, butternut squash, hard-boiled eggs, white bread with margarine, or boiled chibage (starchy corn). 

Say hello to your dinner: Caution and Mai Lasson with our daily nyama, a male guinea fowl

Dinner:

Dinner usually is centered on sadza, a polenta-like preparation of white corn meal flour called upfu (traditionally sadza would be made from finger millet, but this is less common these days). Added to this would be things like nyama and chopped stewed (kale-like) greens. Mai Pasi (Fradreck's wife) tends to include more sauces and vegetables (carrots, broccoli, cauliflower, etc) -- she's an amazing cook and her father worked as a professional chef to a Catholic bishop. He even once cooked for the Pope! In Nyamweda, sometimes we would also have things like crickets (by Joseph's request, who is really into that sort of thing) and eggs (I have had a few five-eggs days here!). 

Sadza is normally eaten with your hands; because of this, it is customary to bring a basin and a cup of water to wash your hands before eating (even when not eating sadza). Also, to be polite, before eating you must clap your hands and thank the cook by saying "pamusoroi" (the cook answers by saying "ewoi" or "idyai zhenyu"... Or "eat!"). After eating, you again thank the cook by clapping and saying "taguta, maita basa" ("I'm full, thank you"), and she responds with "munotendai" (don't mention it).

Finally, I'm sad to report that there are not many sweets in a Zimbabwean diet -- I've had to supplement from my own chocolate stash. The food is pretty good here -- but I am looking forward to getting home to my oven! :)

Yesterday we travelled back to Nyamweda in what would become a fairly epic kombi ride. We received a call from Caution in the AM saying that there was a kombi driver who had agreed to take us to Caution's house and that he was waiting for us at Mbare market. We were overjoyed at the prospect of not having to lug our stuff over hill and dale, so Joseph and I hustled to get our things together and depart from Fradreck's. The kombi from Fradreck's to Mbare took its time (~45 minutes), pausing to drum up business, detouring to avoid the police -- all the usual. When we got to Mbare, we called the kombi driver to check in (from the post office!! Apparently there is a physical building, even if the service is non-functional), and from his vague directions began to wander in the direction of kombis to Mhondoro. I noticed a guy following us who looked super sketchy (in a market know. For sketchiness), so I called to Joseph and we let him pass.

Eventually we found the proper kombi, and were ushered into the seats of honor (or as I like to call them, the "ejection seats of honor" -- no seat belts, of course) -- the two seats next to the driver. Joseph went off to buy mangos, and who should show up and get on our kombi but Mr. Super Sketch. I was a little freaked; Joseph reassured me that he was just a friend of the kombi drivers sent out to look for us, and perhaps his English wasn't good enough to approach us. (He did, in fact, come to Nyamweda and didn't cause any trouble.)

We then waited in the kombi THREE hours to depart Mbare. In the meantime, there was a constant parade of vendors hawking junk from China (they get your attention by hissing, which I hate). I admit that I did buy a junky lock for my suitcase -- it only needs to be secure enough to make it back to the US.

When the kombi finally did depart, it was exquisitely uncomfortable -- because of Joseph's ailment I was in the middle seat with about 6" fewer leg room because of the radio. (I have a gnarly bruise on my knee today from where it was jammed against the dash.) When we were almost to Nyamweda, a huge thunderstorm descended. Instantly the track (we had turned off the main road by then) turned into a river. Again, in the literal sense -- multiple times my feet were doused as we swam through especially deep parts. But at long last we were dropped not far from Caution's, and walked back as the rain was dissipating.

(Later)

I especially wanted to have a singing lesson with Langton Bapiro (whose CD I have listened to many, many times), but he is too shy to ask outright for a lesson. Instead, the plan was to invite him over for a few hours, offer him some beer, and THEN ask for a singing lesson. And we have done so today. Joseph is feeling poorly, and this seems like a fine way to spend an afternoon. There is some chibuku (corn and sorghum beer), which I tried and can honestly say resembles nothing so much as vomit (same sour taste). But it was duly given to Sekuru Bapiro, who seemed to enjoy it, and now he and Caution are playing our mavembe mbiras (Dande), and the singing comes, softly.

Caution and Bapiro discuss singing lyrics for "Dande"

Disappointment for me, this morning. The magetsi didn't come on all last night, and still is not on. Since my phone is out of juice and the Joos wasn't charged, I've missed Greg's presumed attempts to call me. Now that it's daylight, I'm charging the Joos, so once I have access to email, I'll suggest he call tonight, or tomorrow morning. I'm sitting here playing mbira instead, feeling a little sad and a little sorry for myself.

But not too down. I'm excited to have a lesson with Chigamba in a few hours (price: $20), and feel pretty humbled about the way it will come about. Mai Pasi's sister, Mai Nyasha, will accompany me to Harare, where we'll meet Chigamba, who will accompany me to his place (we'll do the same in reverse on the way home). I'll pay their kombi fares, but otherwise they get no compensation. I feel a little bad making a 70-year-old man come and fetch me, but what can be done? Hatfield is supposedly very confusing, so I can't go on my own. They say Chigamba's place is very nice -- a house on about 4 acres, kind of a mini-village in the city. I hope my phone is charged by then so I can record my lesson!

The other thing I am appreciating about the day is the opportunity for a little down time. Caution's village is wonderful, but there are always people around. And (amazingly, since they are doing everything for us) things actually feel very busy.

And, of course, as soon as I wrote that, I was called to breakfast (solo, today, since Fradreck, Erica, and Joseph all went to Chinhoyi to visit Patience).

I'm just back from my little adventure. Mai Nyasha accompanied me on the kombi (where I got a bit concussed by a huge speaker) to Market Square. We hung out just a few minutes at a restaurant there (only enough time for me to buy her a fried pie and a Fanta, which she seemed pleased about) before encountering Tute Chigamba, who then took me to his place in Hatfield for my lesson. The houses are big out there -- mostly on a couple of acres each, at least. Tute's place has a house, a couple of fields of corn, green beans, and squash, along with a group of thatched roof huts (one of which stores his mbira-making things, one that might be a ceremonial hut, one that might be a man cave?? :)) There are two big avocado trees on his property -- what riches! I met his (very!) young second wife (wearing a T-shirt featuring the Old Man and the ominous slogan "Victory is Certain") and his 1-year-old son Harry.

As for my lesson, I can only say that it was one of the most magical experiences I have had so far. We sat in the refreshingly cool but with the mbira-making things and mostly played and played. I (sort of, mostly) learned a few parts, although I don't have an audio record since my phone wasn't charged, so who knows how well they will stick. But it was such a privilege to sit with this incredibly generous master mbira maker and gwenyambira (mbira player) and play. After about 3 hours, I had to say, "taguta, maita basa". It was too much loveliness for a $20 lesson (not to mention the Snickers I gave him, which he also seemed to like), and I found myself thinking about US privilege. I feel sort of guilty to pay so little for something I enjoy so much, and yet (by all accounts) the teachers are happy to be getting this money. But I wonder about what is fair here, and how best to support this tradition.

I am writing again tonight from my little hidey-hole in the mosquito net at Fradreck's place. Joseph and I took a kombi back to Harare this morning. A kombi is a minivan retrofitted to hold 22 passengers (at least!). Amazingly, it works (if the driver's not intoxicated, if the lights are working, if the kombi doesn't break down, if you're not smashed up against a sweaty guy's armpit or a lady who won't budge). For the journey from Nyamweda to Harare, Joseph and I each bought 2 $4 seats, so we had the entire back row -- luxurious! Um, until it started moving. Obviously, the $4 are not going toward shocks!

In Harare, we went and renewed our visas at the immigration office (An extension of my original 30 day visa is free, but you've got to go to the office to do it. Depending how you count it, I may not even need the extension, but better safe than sorry. And, it was convenient. And, another stamp in the passport!) When we got there, the office was closed for lunch, so we waited outside and played mbira. We got the full range of reactions, from stony silence to smiles to videos to questions about mbira to a request to be friends on FB. Somehow, it is incredible to most Zimbabweans that foreigners would want to play this instrument and would come all this way to study something that was shunned by the Westernized part of Zim society. I'm happy to so my part to challenge (musical) norms here.

Tomorrow I'll go have a lesson with Tute Chigamba! I'm excited, even if I don't learn much -- he's a living (mbira) legend. Also, I'll try to Skype with Greg, if he can call, if the magetsi comes on, if I can charge my phone. I'm excited to hear his voice, even just for a few minutes.

Another long(-feeling, at least) trek today, this time to the primary school where Caution teaches. They were having a parents' meeting and elections, which meant about two hours(!) of sitting on a bench while various officials droned on. There was a long discussion in a plan to put electricity in the school and another long discussion of a plan to raise school fees and another long discussion about serving porridge to the students for breakfast. Then elections. Then more elections. Finally Joseph got up and said his bit about MBIRA support of the school. He even threw in a Shona proverb, which made the room erupt with laughter. After the meeting, there was another meeting with the newly elected school committee in which they made us play and took cell phone videos (mental note: search for "varungu mbira" on YouTube) and tried to give us mangos. Two highlights: getting to play a little with Sekuru Bapiro and walking up to the school while the students hung out the doors and windows chanting "Varungu! Varungu!"

It feels as though so much time has passed since I last wrote, although it is only a little more than 24 hours. I am slowly getting used to the rhythms of this place, although I think jet lag is still affecting me (less every day, I hope?). Last night after recording I had my first(!) Zim bath, which was so refreshing despite being a bucket bath. Mai Lasson heated some water for me, and there is nothing like being sweaty and dirty to make you appreciate being clean. I was clean for approximately 15 seconds, because when I got out, all the neighborhood guys were playing mbira/hosho/dancing/singing outside under the darkening sky. So I had to go dance, and immediately got sweaty again. But it was worth it. There was a moment there (sitting and) listening to the mbira and singing and watching this huge thunderstorm roll in, a moment where I knew this was the right place and was so grateful to be here.

I had a good night's sleep thanks to Mai Lasson and the mountain of blankets she piled on -- which made quite a comfortable bed. I still got up early with the light, and the pigeons (they raise them here for eating), but still felt fairly refreshed.

The main event of the day was the trip to the shops in Nyamweda, to deliver Caution's cousin (a biology teacher from Bulawayo suffering from an unspecified ailment) to the kombis and to buy food. It was only about 5 miles round trip, but it ended up feeling like the Bataan death march for me for a number of reasons:

1) The sun. It is so fierce, and so hot. My energy is immediately drained by it (officially a Seattleite, maybe?). I put sunscreen on my hands and feet just before leaving, and still got sunburned.

2) Greetings. Every 100 yards or so we had to stop and greet the people we passed on the path or whose houses we passed. A not insubstantial, formal-like conversation ("How are you?" "I am well if you are well." "I am well." "Good.") That loses some of its luster the 100th time.

3) Visiting. We stopped for a long time at Mai Lasson's mother's house. I was so tired, on the verge of a migraine, and all I wanted was to sleep. :(

4) Feeling a little sad for home. Probably because I was not feeling well physically. And feeling betrayed by my body -- what a will to be felled by the heat! I am reminded of how often I was grumpy in Costa Rica because of the weather, too.

Once we were home, I had a nap and a bath, in that order, and felt so much better. Once the sun sets, all is well. I'm a Zimbabwean vampire. We'll be walking around again tomorrow -- I may carry my umbrella just to shield myself from the sun.

I found myself wondering today what it would have been like to have done Peace Corps in Africa. More demanding physically and mentally, I think -- but possibly more fulfilling? In terms of being a different experience and in being fully integrated into a community.

One of the most fun things about the day was the kids' reactions to the varungu (foreigners). Pointing, laughing, screaming when we would answer in halting Shona. Many were scared, and others followed us down the path like a parade. Ambuyas (grandmothers) were so excited to see us, and one woman told me I should come live with her. Nice to feel like a rock star again (and nice to know it will only last a few weeks, too!).

Tomorrow I'm looking forward to more rock star encounters when we go to the school where Caution teaches mbira. Langton Bapiro will go, too, and I think it could make for some entertaining interactions with the most expressive segment of the people here.

I am writing this while sitting inside Caution's family's ceremonial hut, listening to Caution's group (Tichakonda Mbira Group) be recorded by Erica. It is a magical experience and I am sitting here with a silly grin on my face.

It is a simple hut with mud walls and a thatched roof. There are bamboo mats on the floor and a few jars for water (and beer). There are a few pieces of black and white cloth hung from the walls -- the colors the spirits prefer. Shoes are not allowed inside; neither are hats. Before recording, the whole family assembled in here for prayers to the ancestors, to make sure it was pleasing to them (to use the ceremonial hut? That the recording should happen? I'm not sure.)

We had to get up very early this morning to come to Caution's village since Erica wants to record 2 groups and also return to Harare tonight. Our journey was uneventful ( ~2 hours on pitted roads made enjoyable by good company, beautiful scenery, and the prospect of a week in the country. Upon arriving we met Mai Lasson (Caution's wife), [the tradition here is to call a woman with children by the name of her eldest child], Lasson (Caution's eldest son), Nancy (daughter, age 17), and Courage (Caution's first cousin, once removed, who lives with them, age 6), plus assorted mutts, goats, and chickens. Prince and Milton, Caution's other sons, were out herding the cattle. There were lots of introductions, and then preparations for recording began quickly. I got to meet Langton Bapiro, a neighbor of Caution's and one of my favorite mbira singers, who is a little old man and incredibly shy. I volunteered to buy the beer that I am hoping will loosen him up enough for a good recording. :)

A few notes:

*The eating schedule has been hard to adjust to. Typically there is breakfast of bread and eggs or avocado around 10AM, then nothing (except maybe a snack of boiled peanuts) until the main meal if sadza at around 8PM. I may need to avail myself of the full complement of Snickers I brought, I think! The food is good, if rather salty; but I'm not used to most of the day's calories coming at once, and at night.

*I have not played mbira since I arrived! Too tired, too busy talking and making plans -- but I hope to quickly change that now that we are in the rural area.

*I think I have at last sorted out the toilet situation here. There is no toilet here, but after some initial confusion ("bathroom" does not equal "bathing room"), Mai Lasson took me back beyond the corn field -- a nice walk, and not far, but I'm wondering how enthusiastic I will  be at night, or in the rain, or in an emergency.

A very quick note before bed, since I am exhausted after having gotten a cumulative sum of ~5 hours of sleep since leaving Seattle(!). I felt so spent last night, but still woke up wide awake at 3:30 AM (not time to wake up in PST, either, so who knows??). I had a Snickers in bed, finished my book, and watched the early light change the shadows that my mosquito net made. Eventually I got up and saw my first glimpse of daylight Zim. After breakfast (and after watching an mbira be made, the first bit of a Zim wedding video, and after the first nap of the day), Joseph and I squeezed ourselves into a kombi (blaring jangly Afropop and retrofitted to seat 22) and headed toward downtown. Talk about an assault on the senses! For a mere 5 rand (50 cents), we were treated to a symphony (cacophony?) of sights, sounds, and smells. The meandering kombi (changing route to avoid police looking for bribes or to let off passengers, stopping for gas and to put air in the tires) finally arrived in Market Square in Harare. We ran a couple of errands (J's bank draft, me getting a new SIM card, called a "Buddie", so I can communicate with the folks back home). The computers were down at the telephone place, so we went to the flea market, where we wandered around lookin for a few odd things (sunglasses, a bag, a head scarf). We found none of these, but Joseph did find a man selling CDs. He told the guy he wanted to buy CDs of the strangest Zimbabwean music he had. The first 3 CDs the seller put in were mbira music! (And Joseph knew th names of all the artists!)

After these adventures, we were tired and it was dark, so we took a taxi back to Budiriro. There was no magetsi (electricity), so we had (a delicious!) dinner by lantern of sadza, beef, and lots of vegetables (more greenery than I was expecting, to be honest). The magetsi came back on just as I was headed to bed, which was good since I had to pack for Caution's. It was a real feat to get what I needed into my small suitcase -- needed since we may be coming back by kombi (though getting a private ride for $30 seems a whole lot more appealing, I think). More from Caution's village tomorrow!