Mahaburu ya Watoto

Here's a little more about my summer indulgence.  I'll be teaching boys being held in the Juvenile Jail (Mahaburu ya Watoto) in Moshi, Tanzania for truancy, vagrancy or petty crimes.  From all reports of prior volunteers, these boys are more nearly ragamuffins than criminals.  Which fits in perfectly with my secret plans.

Would you like to know my secret plans?  I'll bet you would!  But then they wouldn't be secret, would they?  I will give you one hint, though. 

Moshi is less than 30 miles from Mount Kilimanjaro National Park, so there is a steady flow of foreign tourists that a well-trained band of pint-sized cutpurses could separate from their blunt, as we Victorians refer to ready cash.  (And, to those of you who think of "blunt" as referring to something else, let me say, "Shame on you!")

Now, people often underestimate the hard work that one must put into becoming a criminal mastermind, but it's like anything else--it all comes down to commitment.  And when it comes to taking what is yours and making it mine, I have that commitment.  As evidenced by my rapidly developing knowledge of the primary language of Tanzania--Swahili. "Kate mfuko wake!  Vizuri kabisa!"  (Cut her purse!  Excellent!)

And, as an added benefit besides being able to instruct my feckless footpads in separating toffs and swells from their "ready", a little knowledge of the local lingo will let me stir up mischief when Cory and I, and possibly our friend Chris, wander up Mount Kilimanjaro while our porters, cook and guide do all the real work.  I figure that, as our porters trudge up the mountain with all of their gear, all of our gear, tents for everybody, food for everybody, and probably a kitchen sink, I'll tell them in the friendliest way possible, "Mabwana, rafiki yangu anapenda kutembea upesi zaidi.  Aliniuliza, 'Mboga pole-pole hivi?  Wachukuzi wetu ni viwete au wazee?'  Na anapenda mtawalipa meta chakulani yake."  (Gentlemen, my friend wants to walk faster.  He asked me, 'Why in the world are we going so slowly?  Are our porters crippled old men?'  And he wants that you spit in his food.)  Won't that be hilarious?!  [Or perhaps the hilarious part when the porters and Cory join forces to see how far I will tumble down a 19,000 foot mountain before coming to a halt.]

VANITY OF VANITIES

If you are a follower of this blog, you know that I am an ardent fan of the great works of fiction.  So it should not come as a surprise to read my quote for this post:  "Vanity of vanities; all is vanity and a striving after the wind."

This summer is lining up into another round of ill-advised adventures for Cory and me.  We start with the Boston Marathon on April 15, where Cory is likely to add another chapter of glory to his autobiography.  Five years ago, he finished 31st in his age group out of over 600 runners.  Since those 600 runners all had to qualify to be in the race, that gives you an idea of what a glorious race Cory had that day.  This year, Cory has moved up into the next older age group--I think it is the Pre-Cambrian Age Group--and may well be even more dominant.  And I'm not so modest as to deny that I will likely have my own measure of glory.  As we go around Boston after the race, I fully expect to be able to tell people, "See that remarkable runner there?  Yes, that really is Cory Brundage!  And I myself am currently carrying his bag!"

After the Boston Marathon, Cory will win his age group at the Mini-Marathon, and then move right into a fitness regimen that would make Navy Seals cry like little girls.  Because he is going to go back to Leadville in August and lay claim to a shiny silver belt buckle the size of a salad plate.  (Unless he gets really fast, in which case he'll bring home a shiny silver and gold belt buckle the size of a dinner plate.)

Cory is inarguable proof of an uncomfortable truth--that accomplishment depends, more than anything else, upon commitment, effort, persistence and willingness to endure discomfort.  I see no reason why I should make you feel bad by demonstrating these same virtues.  Instead, I see a role for me in demonstrating that sloth and self-promotion have their rewards, too, and with much less inconvenience.

While Cory is demonstrating a life of self-denial, virtue and asceticism, I will be engaging in all forms of self-indulgence, in that I will be living in Moshi, Tanzania, teaching math to youthful offenders being held in the Juvenile Jail.  (In Cory's opinion, it is unspeakable cruelty to be forced to learn math--irrespective of whether there is a jail involved--but, luckily for me, Tanzania does not have the same protections for inmates that we have here.)

But I don't just get the pleasure of inflicting mathematics on a captive audience, I also get to stay in a luxury-type house for volunteers.  It has electricity, more or less, and some hot water, some of the time.  But the big luxury is civilized toilets.  Which means I'll be living better than the entire population of France.

And, at the end of my volunteering, Cory and I will take a meander up Mount Kilimanjaro.  At least, that's the plan.  He will be fit and ready, I am sure.  I will be  .  .  .  well,   .   .   .  there.  Still, if I had a reasonable chance of success, wouldn't this whole blog be a fraud?