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In search of adventure … How quickly get z-tokens when your home increases the value?
I have only 324 Z-tokens and I want the Tiki Hut. But Z-tokens.If 1,000 people have suggestions on how to get Z-tokens faster tell me! But I could buy the wood shop and I heard houses value.Does increase to say that if I waited a while you get more value for your home and selling it after a while you get more chips Z-then you bought it by ???????????????????????????
1. z buy 2 chips. houses get 5% z increase the symbolic value of each week buy the best house you can and then wait. It takes about two weeks before starting to get chips in the same 3. sometimes chips will kick Z
What they have
What they have
A personal essay by Boyd Lemon
I stumbled my tent our campsite next to Lake Malawi, Africa and went to the black iron gate. Several monkeys followed me. I waited at the door, waving to my 12 fellow tour group who arrived in groups of two or three. The shouts and laughter of young male African echoed from outside the door. I wondered aloud if they swarm around us to try and sell their handicrafts, art and trinkets, an experience tourists usually found in Africa.
The door opened and prepared us. A young man stepped in and closed the door behind him. He bowed, shook hands with the guard and give to us. Shouted his name across Africa over the din, but he failed and neglected to ask. Kea will call the name of a man I met after Tanzania in Zanzibar.
"I will your tour guide, "said Kea, like the voices were silent." The name of the village we visit is Mbamba. "(The" M "is silent.) Kea raised $ 5.00 each for the tour, then opened the door and asked us to follow him. In an instant the men surrounded then distributed among us as we walked. Two of them walked on either side of me. One, a tall, stocky, with short hair appeared as Cisco and asked my name. I said and we shook hands. The other said Bush was Bebe (spelled phonetically) "unlikely, I thought, as he shook my outstretched hand. "Nice" he said. His head was shaved, and Cisco looked compared to about four feet tall. Cisco said he lived in the village with his grandmother.
"I live in town too," said Baby Bush. I realized that two young flanked each of the other tour members. Everyone chatted as we walked.
Neither Cisco, Bebe nor Bush mentioned selling anything, but I was sure they would. At the end of the tour that my prediction came true. I bought a shirt that we designed together. While we were outside the door of camping, we agreed that in the back that would have a map of the five East African countries is expected to visit and photos of a fisherman and women grinding cassava flour. The name of the village, Mbamba, would be on the front left. I chose a black shirt and said it was up to them to choose the colors for the graphics. They said they would be prepared outside the camp gate at 6:00 sharp. It is clear that his sales technique was effective. Probably would not have bought anything, certainly not a $ 35 T-shirt before they became "friends." I gave him money from Cisco with only a fleeting thought that I could never see them again. About five hours later, at five and fifty-eight, the guard came to our camp and told me that Cisco was waiting for me. The shirt is beautiful.
We walked through the dusty road, it had not rained in a few days – to the village, surrounded by lush vegetation and dotted with red and yellow flowers on the ground of the jungle-like. Recognized mango trees, cassava and trees of banana plants. Cisco said it was 19, had gone to high school and expressed the hope go to college. His English is clearer and more grammatical than most Africans who had spoken. He said the villagers usually speaks Swahili each other. Baby Bush said he was in high school. The two said they had lived in the village all his life and intend to stay.
We begin to see huts near the top the path. In about a mile we reached a small outdoor market and a water pump surrounded by thirty-cottage village center. small wooden tables and brightly colored fabrics wrapped on the floor were covered with fruits and vegetables, tomatoes, corn, potatoes, avocados, beans, bananas, fruit I did not recognize, and arts and crafts – paintings of animal skins traditional dancers, animals, warriors and wood carvings of African wildlife – elephants, zebra, wildebeest, giraffes, monkeys, lions and leopards. No drums handmade and local wood and string instruments of various shapes and sizes and music CDs African. I doubt anyone in town had a CD player.
A line of women waiting at the water pump in the chat between themselves and their children. As a child worked the pump handle, a woman filled a plastic bucket. When I was full, which was raised to the head, took the child's hand and walked down a path with heavy tub over his head.
Kea asked us to gather around. The scene continued to pump water. Kea said that most people in the village are farmers subsistence farming of cassava, tomatoes, beans, corn, rice, bananas and mangoes. Some raised chickens. Some lived on tourism. There was no other work for villagers. He told us the well and pump was provided by a charitable foundation, which was the only source of drinking water for the people. People living outside had to walk miles for water. He took us to the outdoor market and said that what we saw was the surplus production that villagers grew and became arts and crafts from the villagers. No mention of the Conference on Disarmament. Nor did anyone try to sell us anything. He said there were no handles or cassava flour the market, because everybody grew cassava and mangoes.
Kea said we will visit the village school and hospital, and then return to the village center for lunch. He asked us if we would visit her house. We all said, "Yes." Our individual guides left us. Cisco said to meet us when we returned to town.
We Kea for 50 yards or so. He gestured toward a hut made of mud bricks and thatch. "That's my house." He said quite naturally to the thatched roof leaked. "I wake up with water dripping on me. Needs a lot of maintenance." He laughed.
13 We do not fit into the small house – a living room with a fire burning on the dirt floor, about eight square meters and two small rooms with other openings in the mud walls of the interior. We took turns, going in two compact groups. He said he cooked in the fire. He pointed at a small table and two chairs. "This is where eat, "he said, as she pushed aside to make more room. He was the only furniture, the house had no plumbing or appliances.
"Two bedrooms, "he said, pointing again," mine and my grandmother. "The rooms were big enough for a single bed size pad ground floor, nothing else.
He said one in five people in the village were infected with HIV, more women than men. He did not say, but I did that was why he and Cisco were living with their grandmothers. Probably, their mothers had died of AIDS. In response to a question, said that the average age for girls to marry was 15. Men, women and older children worked on farms.
Kea Leaving home to go to the dirt road to school, 25-30 children appeared from somewhere. They looked so young as 3 or 4, probably as old as 10. A boy on my left and a girl grabbed my right hand. Chatted away, always smiling. I did not understand much of what they said, but they asked me where I was. They smiled and shook his head up and down when he said that the United States. The girl, about 10, wearing a dirty beige dress was too large for her. The skirt almost touched the ground. The top was broken and missing top buttons, exposing most of her chest. Many children were dressed in rags next, probably hand me downs from long ago. Only a few had more new, brightly colored clothing. Most of the girls wore dresses. The guy who took my hand, about 7 or 8, wearing shorts red and yellow oversized t-shirt, had a handle on hand in the mouth, covering most of her lips. His hand was sticky. Several of the children picked mangos had fallen mature trees, split open and pushed his hands to his mouth.
As we walked, even though it was past 9:00, humid heat covers closed in. The sweat dripped from his forehead and nose. We passed through fields of cassava and mango and banana plantations. Each cabin had crops behind or side. Those working in very small plots of land were cultivated with hoes or planting by hand. Kea said hand harvest. We walked by dozens of people working, and walking a lot, usually carrying something in his head-no vehicles or animals, except poultry. A girl, probably no more than 16, bathed a baby protesting in a plastic tub. commented that babies around the world did not like baths. Cisco smiled and nodded.
In our travels in East Africa, except in cities, we saw few vehicles or animals. Occasionally, people cultivated with hand plow. Only once I saw a ox pulling a plow. There was no irrigation. In general, there was much rain, I supposed.
As he continued walking behind Kea, I wondered how much school was, but I did not ask. The children sang, first together, then themselves. It is sometimes ignored in the sweltering heat. It was almost always smiling, chatting and laughing when they were not singing. The older children attended the youngest. No adults came, except Kea.
The two children holding my hands led to the front with Kea. He smiled and asked me where I was. "United States", he said. He smiled broadly. "Obama," he shouted, raising his hand into a fist. I smiled and nodded.
"Yes," I said. I voted for him. "Good.'s A good man," said Kea.
I asked if the villagers had enough to eat. "Yes, in general," he said. "We take care of others. If a family is in need, help out. We look after each other. "I asked about crime in the town." crime? No, none, "he said. We kept walking. Most adults and children near the route abandoned us with a big smile as we passed. A man standing in front of a hut came over, patted me on the shoulder and said: "Welcome."
After walking over a mile from the town center, we finally arrived at the school. It was made of bricks like mud houses, but with a tin roof. I counted ten classrooms. It was a Sunday, so school was not in session. We Kea in a classroom. The children stood outside, laughing, playing, screaming, as a group of American children would have. The floor of the room was of concrete.
A teachers began his presentation. Kea silence the children outside, without much effect. The teacher told us that there were eight degrees and ten teachers. Taught mathematics, English, Swahili, art and music, he said. I thought our schools in the United States is eliminated art and music programs in elementary school. music and art flourished throughout eastern Africa. Are art and music more important to the poor?
The teacher told us we had about 1,500 hundred students in school. For most of all was the education they receive. Some went to high school in a town larger than required to be parents. Some went to college. He said the school was built with charitable donations and survived thanks to the charity. He referred to the plain wooden box with a slot in the superior and asked us to donate. Most of us did.
After the presentation of the teacher, we looked around the classroom. The books on shelves in the back, except for math and English, seemed almost at random, donations, I thought, including many novels, some classics, Ivanhoe, some not so classic Danielle-Steele-for children? I saw no children's books. Children's art on the walls, like a primary school in the United States. They represented the people and especially family scenes.
I asked the teacher if the school had a computer. He said he would like to have one, but did not. After I got home, I read an article in The New York about an organization that is dedicated to providing computers for all children Africans in 2012.
When they walked out the classroom door, sweating, I thought children would be sitting in the classroom on Monday suffocating. Our partners told us children, shouting "Hello!" laughing and holding hands again.
We walked about half a mile in another way to hospital, a brick building, smaller than that of the school. It had a main room with a concrete floor, where once again gathered the children were left out and two rooms in the back that never entered. I have not seen any X-ray machine or other medical equipment you would expect in a hospital. Perhaps the team was in the back, but then where were the rooms of patients?
The hospital administrator, a tall, thin Young, who spoke perfect English, told us that the care at the hospital he was free. Like a schoolteacher, he asked for donations. Nobody asked questions Specific care is given. I can not imagine that this was far beyond first aid, but I do not know. However, the man spoke to us with a sense of importance and urgency and pride in what I was doing.
In the time it took to the streets to join the children, was even hotter. I still laughed, jumping and chatting while we were children on the long road back to the center of town. Several hands grabbed me this time and I Questions were asked, "where he was, was hot there, do you like living in Boston, how many people lived in Boston? Sometimes I could not understand what they asked. Kea had told us that English is their second language. A couple of times it bounced for a moment, then returned and grabbed my hands.
When we returned the people, our guides told us individual. In the center of town near the water pump, a large blanket out on the ground. About 20 yards behind a fire burned on a grill and smoke. Kea asked us to sit down. Men and women set great bowls of food and brought plates, spoons and forks. Others gave us bowls soup – sweet potato, said Kea. Women served chicken, beans and rice bowls of steaming on our plates. The food was spicy, similar to the spices in Indian food. Us served bread made from cassava flour. All in good taste. The portions were huge. I feared shame to waste food I could not finish.
The children stayed behind of us talking and laughing. Someone asked why children were not eating. Kea said it would give us what we ate. They were excited, he said, because did not get very often chicken. We all left a lot on their plates, especially chicken. When finished eating, adults to children placed with our dishes. They ate food quickly.
I gave him some coins few children. They grabbed them with gusto. Others were given pens and paper. Children in towns and villages that had been begged for pen and paper when we stopped. That was usually the first order.
The children who had pens and paper sat on the floor and began to draw away, but stopped Kea, kept his pen and paper and arranged in a line. Drummers came and started playing. Children danced and sang and invited us to join them. They tried to teach several of our women how to make traditional African dance. The village men laughed and beat her drums. Whether they were dancing, singing or talking, which echoed a vibrant energy. The joy was contagious. We danced with them.
It was easy focus on what the people have no Mbamba. They have no vehicles of any kind, either personal or washing machines to work;, dryers, refrigerators or another appliance, electronic entertainment, such as radio, TV, Walkman, iPod or computers, showers, bathtubs and toilets, animals or machinery to help to the farm, diapers, modern toys, telephones, air conditioning or heating, makeup, deodorant, tissues, glasses, dental care, soil curtains, electric lights or any other means of irrigating their crops. Instead of lawn mowers, used machetes to "cut" during the wet season when the grass grows tall. the best I could tell, had no underwear. At least, the children did not. The list of what did not seem to be endless.
What they have is less obvious and concrete, but defines his life: the joy in their daily lives, a sense of community, the pleasure of helping someone in need, joy life filled with music and dance, the performance of creating music and art, the satisfaction of eating what they planted, grew and fed with his own hands, the peace of the nature of the connection to the earth, to live surrounded by natural beauty and wild creatures of Africa, the love of a family and the clan; small simple pleasures, the realization of his hands making the things they need to live, time to enjoy the companionship and camaraderie between herself and her children; true human communication of caring, respect and each other, the incomparable joy of seeing and raising children, knowledge of what is really necessary, I suspect, the joy of sex without being promoted incessantly by the media, the ability to distinguish the important from the unimportant, the acceptance of life, acceptance death; appreciation for what they have. These people, desperately poor by our standards, without all the comforts, convenience and entertainment that we consider necessary, are alive in the human sense of the word.
In every village, towns and cities we visited or passed through eastern Africa, Most of the people who were away from the waiver hearing, smiled and said hello. Many said: "Welcome", asked where we were from. Some tried to sell us something, and not others. Everyone, sale or otherwise, was blatantly environment. Never before in any other place I've had many conversations with strangers. They were curious and outgoing. They asked questions. They wanted to know about us. They were interested in other humans, and they show that when the interest and try to relate to all of us.
When they heard I was from the United States, often invoked the name "Obama said." Many asked me whether he had voted for him. Some asked if I knew him. Most said something positive about it. showed pride in their faces, not only in Kenya but in Mbamba and everywhere between.
I remember a similar openness, friendliness and enthusiasm for life when I was growing up in a small town in California in the 1940s and 50's. No longer exists in the region of America that we know today.
It has been said that all other things are the same, it is better to be rich to be poor. I guess if you isolate the two conditions, that is true. But life is more complex than that. Can not be isolated in rich or poor. Life involves a complex set of conditions, relative wealth to be only one. Mbamba villagers taught me that wealth is not the most significant condition and may even distract attention from real human fulfillment, as it has done to many Americans. Of course, if you do not have enough to eat for hunger or to maintain health, or ill without means of obtaining care, or who are homeless, life can not be met.
I do not mean to imply that the people of Mbamba not suffer or to minimize the difficulties they support. If they thought their lives were nirvana, I give away all my possessions and move to Mbamba be a farmer. But many Americans can learn something valuable from the way in which they live, what they have.
The people of Mbamba taught me that if you have those needs, does not need anything else. No need to fight so that Americans so desperately that if we do not have enough of what we want and we never seem to have enough, that the effect of numbing our perception of failure with pills and alcohol do not experience either pain or joy that life brings. Many of us never realize what we have done ourselves.
When the singing and dancing in Mbamba concluded, children who had accompanied me on our tour passed over, said goodbye and hugged me. I hugged him and turned my head so they could not see my tears. My tears were not for them.
About the Author
Boyd Lemon is a writer and retired attorney living in Paris, France after a lifetime in southern California. He has completed a memoir, Digging Deep: A Writer Uncovers His Marriages. It will be published in 2011.
