(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!

I'm only half sure of what day it is -- but I am 100% sure of where I am. Zimbabwe, at long last! Fradreck Mujuru and his son Kudzi picked me up tonight from the airport and took me to Fradreck's place about 15km from the airport. I'm snugly ensconsed in a little room here, with bed/blankets/pillow/mosquito net -- none of which I was sure would be available. An insistent rain is pattering on the to roof, and faint sounds of mbira drift in, too. I feel pretty good despite the 24+ hour journey -- fueled mainly be adrenaline and Coca-Cola/Coke Zero (which they kept serving on the plane) -- and the main casualties seem to be my absurdly swollen feet. I only slept a couple of hours on the plane, but it has worked well so that I can fall asleep now.

A couple of highlights for now:

*Seeing an enormous thunder and lightning storm on the horizon (over Sudan?) from 35,000 feet.

*Seeing many small fires -- but whether cookfires or fires from the lightning, I don't know.

*Entering Zimbabwe (surprisingly easy) under the framed sour puss of Robert Mugabe (who they refer to simply as "The Old Man", whose picture was hung prominently at several locations at the airport.