I've probably lost about 70 percent of my regular readers because of the recent drought in stories I've been providing. So that leaves about three of you. I will try to describe as much as I can in these 18 minutes of remaining Internet time I've got (the connection at our house has been dunskies for a while now).

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1. First rule of living in the Arusha region of Tanzania: Until proven otherwise with hard evidence, you just have to assume that everyone here is a wolf in sheep's clothing.

I hesitate to say that this is a rule of thumb for "living in Tanzania," because I know Peace Corps volunteers who have spent a lot of time in the south of the country that have nothing but positive things to say about the Tanzanian people -- it's only when they come to Arusha, a hotbed of tourism due to its proximity to Kilimanjaro and the Serenghetti, that they complain about dirty pool. I also hesitate to call it a rule of thumb for "living in Africa," because it's a pretty big place, and I don't even pretend to have it all figured out.

Wolves in sheeps' clothing. That's a term that everyone can understand. What I prefer, though, comes from a Black Uhuru song called "Plastic Smile." I sing it all the time here; it's been stuck in my head for weeks because of the abundance of fake smiles that only seek to hide ulterior motives. As I walk the streets of Arusha; as I traverse the dirt roads of our village, Patandi; and as I sit crammed between a woman carrying a basket full of avocadoes and an old man with less teeth than eyeballs in the back of a dala dala, the Hiace van taxis that serve as pretty much the only mode of public transportation in East Africa, I sing...

Ya can't show all your teeth, plastic smile cyan't work.....

Buh, buh-buh-BUH, buh, buh-buh-buh-BUH-buh....

The bassline and the words hit me just as hard.

A plastic smile is what can't work with me anymore. I've already fallen for enough of them, and I'm tired. Not yet jaded, but certainly mentally drained. Anyone that says "My friend, my friend!" to me as I walk by them automatically disqualifies himself from friend potential. The same goes for "Where are you from?" That line is about as effective on me as the "Come here often?" line is on a hot chick.

If they're lucky, I tell them "Sihitaji bwana, toka." (I don't need it man, scram). I don't even bother to glance at what they're selling, because I don't want any part of it. Sometimes they hear me speak Swahili without a stutter, and they back off. But then there are the ones who only keep trying; those are the really hungry wolves in sheep's clothing. They get a second dose of Swahili from me, but it's not polite this time: "Mimi si mtalii! TOKA!" (I'm not a tourist! Get outta here!)

Your plastic smile cyan't work.

It is ironic that "Uhuru" is the Swahili word for "freedom," isn't it?

I promise that these feelings of mine are with merit, and that they aren't held solely by myself. Hunter feels the same way, if not more strongly about it. That says a lot, because if any of you have ever met Hunter, you'd know that "Trusting" is his middle name.

I don't have time to go into depth right now on the issue we've had to deal with in our personal lives since arriving on the 4th of July. It involves an 11-year-old former friend, who just happens to be our next door neighbor. It involves a 40-year-old man who looks like a cross between It and Kevin Willis. And it involves Musa, who I wrote about previously.

Together, they worked to steal over $500 worth of stuff from our house. Tanzanian shillings, U.S. dollars, an iPod, a cell phone and a pocket knife. Most of it was mine. We recovered far less than half of the total booty. And we received not a single genuine apology.

The worst part? They stole from us when they were guests in our own home. Not one, twice, or even thrice -- in fact, no one could even count the number of times it happened. The most honest answer I got out of the whole debacle was from Musa: "Mara nyingi." (Many times).

Wolves in sheeps' clothing. Their plastic smiles did work. But never again, I swear on all that's holy. Kwa sababu mimi sio mtalii, and I'm not gonna take any more of this business from anybody.

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2. The Kiswahili language. Oh man do I love speaking it.

It is painfully simple, except for a few causes for confusion when dealing with what prefix to use for which type of noun. That will come with time and repetition, though. The main thing is that after one year, I will be solid at Swahili. Which will only help that much more in scaring off those wolves.

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3. Anyone who's been to Arusha remembers the newspaper hawkers. They sell The Herald Tribune, USA Today, The Guardian, and some random German papers. They're almost as annoying as the dudes who sell the Maasai daggers, but not quite.

My question is this: WHERE DO THEY GET THESE PAPERS? Second question: HOW IS IT POSSIBLE TO SELL THEM WHEN EVERY SINGLE ONE HAS A DIFFERENT HEADLINE?

USA Today needs to be renamed USA Yesterday, or USA Last Wednesday. I glanced at one of them as I was walking down the streets this morning, and I was thrilled to see that President Bush had been reelected for a second four-year term. Also, did anyone else hear the news??? Alex Rodriguez signed a ten-year, $252 million deal with the Rangers. What is Tom Hicks THINKING?

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4. The reason we're here: Putting orphans in English medium boarding schools.

This month, we did so for 20 kids, though not all of them are technically orphans. Nineteen of them are boarding at the school where Hunter and I are also assistant English teachers. They range from watoto wadogo to vijana -- little kids to young adults. Some are able to speak a little English already, while some -- a little Maasai girl and her older brother -- know almost zero Kiswahili.

It warms my heart to see the smiles on their faces at school. Maybe that is enough to justify coming here for a year with next to no pay. Are we going to save the world? Not a chance. Are we singlehandedly going to change the course of Tanzania's future? No way; it takes a village to reach the Tipping Point of a nation's development. But are we going to impact just a few lives during this year in East Africa?

Mungu akipenda, as they say around these parts. The Christians say that at least. Muslims here say Inshaallah. We'd just say "God Willing" back home. Time will tell if He's down.

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5. I have a surrogate father in Switzerland that is a Texan, born and raised. He moved to the Lake Geneva region when he got married to a Swiss-born Spanish girl years ago, and getting accepted into the culture was difficult. He was a novice to the French language at first, which didn't make it any easier.

The thing that did it was sports.

I'm not a swimmer like Breck, nor am I too into wearing Speedo's like he is. Besides, when was the last time you saw an African medal in an Olympic swimming event anyway? So I had to find a different sport to help me mingle with the people in a setting where plastic smiles aren't even attempted.

Hunter and I found it at Soweto.

Soweto is a suburb of Arusha Town that just happens to have one of the rare basketball courts with two functioning, ten-foot rims. There are chain nets, too, which only makes it all the more badass.

We've only been playing there for two weeks, but I am already starting to feel accepted. And I mean truly accepted, not because they want my money. Abdallah, Mohammed, Bariki Mkubwa (Big Bariki), Bariki Mdogo (Little Bariki), Saidi, Elia, and all the other regulars who play at Soweto don't give a damn if I'm a mzungu or not. They don't care why I'm in their country, or how much money I have, or even if I'm interested in taking a safari. All those dudes care about is whether I can ball or not.

The sad truth is, I suck. Defense is no problem because defense is purely about desire anyway. And dribbling/passing never really leaves you. It's my shooting that embarrasses not only me, but the American people as a whole, because I do the sign of the cross when I hit the rim, it's gotten that bad.

More on all these topics later, when there isn't a countdown on my Internet time. Hopefully this will keep The Bob, Elise, Beth, Mr. Jenner, and whoever else actually reads this thing at bay, if not for a few days.

AMANI, UPENDO, NA TULIVO. I am out.