Mission Rabies Tanzania 2025 - Week 1 is in the Books.

Wednesday, October 1st

The first week of the campaign wrapped up today, with more of a whimper than a bang. Roaming and door-to-door days always yield fewer vaccinations, but it still stings a little when the numbers are low.

Breakfast came with a surprise today: pretzels. Big, chewy ones like you’d get from a New York City street vendor. No giant grains of salt stuck to them, no packets of mustard on the side, but still — a pretty tasty twist. (Pretzel. Twist. Get it? Okay, I’ll stop.)

Hydration update: yesterday I chugged water like crazy to ward off the dreaded kidney stone. I’m not wild about plain water, so I came prepared. Brought my own ice cube tray (third time here, I know the drill) and a stash of Lipton family-sized cold brew tea bags. You fill the thermos with ice, drop in a bag, fill with water, let it sit overnight — voilà, iced tea in the morning. When that runs out, I pour the too-sweet lunchbox mango juice over the leftover ice, dilute with water, and now I have a very drinkable concoction. Today, I decided to “camel up” before we even hit the road. It worked. No twinges today, but let’s just say I personally christened much of Midawe village.

Two down, one to go

Midawe is different than the villages we visited yesterday.  More “upscale”, if that term even applies here. Well-tended farms, with healthy crops – corn, zucchini, onions, tomatoes – planted in neat rows.  Solid cinderblock homes instead of leaning, rickety wood and corrugated tin ones.  The first family that waved us down led us past a pond where they raise fish. I’d never seen that here before. A nice reminder of just how varied life can be here. 

The dogs in Midawe were another story. After a relatively mild week, today’s bunch had attitude. Four out of the first five needed my quick thigh-jab technique. After that, things mellowed.

Because we didn’t see many dogs today, I don’t have many canine tales to tell. Still, the day had its highlights — mostly cultural snapshots and oddball observations. To make sure I don’t lose these little ideas, I jot them in a small pocket notebook. The notebook itself works fine; my jotting, not so much. Trying to write in a van that rattles like a rollercoaster is impossible. My handwriting ends up looking like a cross between an EKG tracing and hieroglyphics, scrawled by someone mid-seizure. Later, when I flip back through it, I somehow manage to decode it, deciphering enough to turn those scribbles into these blog posts. (Maybe one day, when I become famous, I can sell my little notepad on Ebay as “original field notes”.)

This is what it's like going door to door.

 I’ve been getting the usual greetings all week — mambo, jambo, habari, even a few hellos. But today a kid greeted me with “shikamoo.” I asked our local teammates about it, and they said it’s a respectful greeting, rather than a casual one, for anyone older than them. Sometimes they like to mess with me, so I Googled it. Sure enough: “a greeting for elders, teachers, respected figures.” I’ll happily take the “respected figures” part, but I’m not too crazy about the “elder” label. Elder sounds ancient. The proper response to shikamoo, I learned, is “marahaba,” which means “I accept your greeting”, but I’m choosing to interpret it as, “I’ve earned these wrinkles, kiddo.” Honestly, I’ll admit that I kinda like the status.

At midday, we cracked open the van’s soda crate. Tanzania takes its Fanta seriously — orange, passion fruit, pineapple (the best) and something purple they claim is “berry.” Elsa, braver than me, tried the purple. She winced. She offered me some. I winced. It’s not berry. It’s carbonated Robitussin. We may not be prima donnas out here, but we do have standards.

Back to the grind. We followed our GPS map diligently, until it led us straight to the literal end of the road, impassable by car. From there, the only way forward was on foot. And this wasn’t your average stroll. The path dropped steeply, then wound across narrow, creaky wooden footbridges, before climbing back up through farmland. For me, it was more than just a hike — it was a bit of a watershed moment. Could I actually do this? In my head I still feel like I’m 25, but my knees remind me otherwise. I decided to push on, and I’m glad I did. The payoff was spectacular: neat little farms, impressive homes, even a greenhouse, all bordered by a sweeping view of streams, ponds, and those rickety little bridges we’d just crossed. The climb back up — the part I dreaded most — turned out to be easier than the descent. By the time I got back to the van, I felt equal parts exhausted and triumphant, ready to collapse into the seat and declare victory over the terrain.

After the uphill climb, we dealt with lots of little rickety bridges like this..

Lunch was back at Bangata, where we’d held our first static clinic. The lunch ladies prepare variety packs with something for everyone: veggie sandwiches, foil-wrapped waffles, cucumber and carrot sticks, a muffin or a piece of cake, some cashews, a box of mango juice, and the trusty hard-boiled egg. Elsa and I also scavenge like hyenas at breakfast, swiping leftover rolls and eggs to make sandwiches for our local teammates. Today I had an extra sandwich, which I handed to a young man who eyed my lunchbox hungrily. I gave my tiny banana to a school kid. Small kindnesses, but they add up.

Afterward, we were sent to Ilkirevi, a more urban village about 45 minutes away. Elsa claimed the back seat for a nap. I thought there was no way she could sleep in a van where every drive is a rollercoaster ride, but she managed, and it gave her a second wind.

Elsa can sleep through anything.

Ilkirevi had much smoother roads, and I saw lots of shops – clothing stalls, butcher stands, and hardware stores. We did the usual megaphone routine and vaccinated a handful of dogs, including one old boy who became the day’s highlight. Grey muzzle, slow gait, bony hips.  We asked the owner how old he was, and he proudly said, “nine” — ancient by Tanzanian standards. He was loved, cared for, and dignified. If anyone deserved a “shikamoo,” it was him. After vaccinating him, we lingered, us soaking in his quiet presence, and he in ours. Then Elsa offered him a handful of dry dog food, which he gently nibbled. These are the moments that stay with me.

By day’s end, our tally was 26 dogs. All teams combined: 295. Modest, but meaningful. Getting back to Tanz Hands was harder than the vaccinations themselves, thanks to roadblocks for Tanzania’s newly elected president. Traffic was a nightmare, but we finally rolled into basecamp, a little worn out, but feeling accomplished after finishing the week.

Week 1 is done.  We have two days of R&R ahead.  Most of the group is off on safari. I’ve been twice, so I’m going to stay behind to catch up on reading, writing, and photo editing.  I enjoy the grounds here at Tanz Hands, and I’m going to spend some time just sitting and being.  

Stay tuned for more tales from Week 2. 

One of my artistic shots of the day.