December 17- now
This week I had a break through on a variety of levels with my village. It was a slightly rough week as Juster was in Njombe all week visiting her family for the holidays, so I was alone. At first I didn't really know what to do and realized how dependant I have become on her, so it was actually sort of good to be forced out of that comfort zone.
This week Tally walked with me to my site. We had fun spending the night at my house where I tried to teach her the joys of making crepes, warm bucket baths, and fresh brewed coffee. After she left I decided to finish my garden. I know it is snowing in Oregon but spring has come in the Southern Highlands. Birds are singing everywhere, the grass is tall and green and the grasshoppers are everywhere. I have been working hard at digging up my courtyard which was entirely grass. If you know me, than you know I am not much of a "manual laborer". But I really got with it and since all good Tanzanians are planting right now, I decided I would be good and fit in with my village. So I slaved away hoeing in the sunlight. In the end my hands were blistered and bloody and I had gone full force Tanzanian-style and risked worms to work in the garden barefoot. It felt good to be creating something, and to feel a connection with the earth around me. I dug ditches around the beds I created because there is limited water in Africa, the ditches will hold the rain in and allow my beds to be watered. I now have three 8' X 3.5' beds, one 4.5'X 8' bed and one 15'x 4' bed. I have planted flowers (African Daisies, Marigolds, California Poppies, Calendula, Sunflowers, and Nasturtiums). I planted a variety of lettuce, Swiss Chard, Kale, Spinach, Arugula, Broccoli, Green Peppers, Cucumber, Summer Squash, Pumpkins, Eggplant, Beets, Radishes, Carrots, Green Beans, Snap Peas, and Pineapple. My herb garden is Lavender, Dill, Catnip, Thyme, Basil, Oregano, Chives, Parsley, Rosemary, and Tarragon. There was already a Tanzanian hot pepper bush in my yard that I kept and it full of flowers. We will see if any of it grows but as a Vegetarian, I will be excited to have any of my own veggies. While I worked like a Turk, Kimulimuli spent his time chasing lizards, pouncing on the hoe, and digging up then pooping wherever I had just planted... oh, that cat.
This week I considered starting a daycare. All the kids are now out of school for the holidays, so as I walked around my village this week I realized that there was only children anywhere. All the adults were working in the farms on the outskirts of the village. They just leave there little tiny kids wandering around. But than I noticed these were the kids who were cooking the meals, fetching the water, running the shops and felt like they were making a daycare for me than the other way round. One of my big break-throughs this week was as I was walking a kid started yelling excitedly, "Mzungu! Mzungu!" (White Person). They get so excited to see me that it is not malicious or anything, but it is like they can't contain themselves. I turn just in time to hear another kid say to him, "No, No, That is Mwalimu Brie" (Teacher Brie). Then they both started yelling "Mwalimu!" so I turned and waved to them but I could have hugged them for it. Over the week many of the kids had switched to using my name or teacher. To suddenly no longer be "white Person" does a lot for feeling like you are included in your village.
I have a new adopted family. Mama David, who I wrote of before, except now I am going to call her Mama Mary because I think Mary is her child who I will get to know the best. Since I had nothing else to do I went to her home. She runs a shop out of her house and also is a tailor. She speaks no English but is patient, willing to talk slow, and use words that I know. She was so encouraging that I ended up spending a lot of time talking this week. I know my Swahili was sloppy and I made mistakes but my villagers loved it. One day I just hung out at her shop while she was working and after a while a crowd had sort of gathered to hang out with me. We somehow got on the subject of my mugging. I acted/told the whole story to my villagers making tongue clicks and verbal reactions of horror. Then I succeeded in convincing them that I have no money because of this event and they even agreed saying that I don't even have a car. If anything this moment made me feel supported by my villagers and made me feel that I will probably never get robbed in village. Mama Mary is a sweetheart and she is the first Tanzanian to acknowledge that it must be really hard for me to be away from my family in a village alone. She invited me to spend Christmas with her family. She invited me to spend nights there. She told me she would teach me Kibena. I love her and I love Mary. Mama Mary told me that Mary talks about me nonstop and is so excited to start school because I will be teaching there. She has an adorable toothless grin and plays dress up. So I have adopted them as my TZ village family.
The other big event of the week happened on my way into town. I convince the driver of my village car that even though it is not running he should run it for me. Luckily, in some ways the crush pays off and Stanley agrees to take me to town. He says that the village is out of supplies anyways and so he will see if anyone else wants to go. I am relieved that I get to go spend Christmas with my friends. When he picks me up at 4 am there is another guy in the front seat too who is about my age. This guy has had some secondary school and so he speaks a few words of English which is helpful when I don't understand his Swahili. Anyways, I end up talking to the two of them the whole way to town. So at 4.30 am I am discussing the Iraq war, and what I think the merits are to a Obama presidency. They share with me problems in our village from lack of education to too many kids etc. Then we get on the subject that a white woman must get on when she is with two Tanzanian men of her same age: When am I getting married? What is my bride price? Why am I not already married? etc. These guys are totally harmless village guys so I talk with them about how Americans don't believe in bride price, how I am waiting to get married, and I can't cook Ugali so therefore I can't marry a Tanzanian. I say that it is important for me to do what I am doing in Africa because I am a health volunteer and maybe can help here. Then Oscar (the other guy) asks me if I will teach about using condoms. I say that I will. Then we proceed to have the most embarrassing conversation I have had so far in Tanzania. Both of them tell me excuse and excuse about why condoms won't work. (I won't go into them because I am not sure who is reading this.) I blush for a second that we are talking about this at all, but then I think "Brie, pull it together. These are a hard to reach group of people that have most of the control and tend to have many partners. This is the reason why you are here." So I pull it together, I toughen up, just because I am a 24 year old girl doesn't mean I can't tell them what is what. It is not enough to just talk to a mamas group or teach Primary School students, these men need to be reached also. So we have an open discussion about condom use and I think it went well. I actually joked with them a bit but then firmly ended with that their lives and other people's depended on the use. The great thing was they weren't awkward at all about talking about it with me. They seemed to genuinely want to know and wanted to listen. At they end they said they understood... So maybe my teaching has begun? I think Stanley will be a great in with this twenty- something single male group in my village and I have already started to brainstorm ways that this group might now be reached.
Now, I am in Njombe. Getting ready for a holiday celebration at our hotel with about 30 other PCVs. We are doing a gift exchange and the hotel staff is letting us use their kitchen (which has an oven!) so we can make a holiday feast. Merry Christmas everyone! I miss and love you.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Happy Holidays
Hey Friends and Family,
Just a note to wish you all Happy Holidays and a Wonderful New Year! Things are going fine in Tanzania, I am a little poorer than I expected to be but hamnashida, as we would say here. (No Problems).
Now for a little story: Just went to the bank which is the prime example of Tanzanian inefficiency as the bank is almost always an all day experience. As I am waiting in line (I had already been there for an hour) and man after man cuts in front of me. I know this is a cultural difference here but I start to get a little pissed off. I am not sure if it is because I am a woman and therefore a second class citizen or because I am white so they think I don't know what is going on. But finally when the fourth guy cuts me, I throw a big hissy fit in the bank. Now usually I am able to keep my temper under control, but not today. So I tell them in Swahili "Not Cool", basically. They laugh at me but give me my way. For the next two hours of line standing we all sort of joke about it... "Haha, the foreigner knows whats going on and wouldn't let it happen." But the whole experience made me realize that equality is very ingrained in our culture. It doesn't always play out but for the most part Americans value equality, fairness and justice and get angry when we feel we are not being treated in a just manner.
I began to think that for most Americans we only apply this rule to other Americans, not to people in other countries. We figure that's just the way things are. There were countless times while working for Mercy Corps that I heard Americans say things like, "Well, all Africans are poor, that's just the way things are." (This is entirely untrue, many are and some are not.) or "We should be helping people in our own country." (We should, but why should arbitrary borders justify who receives help?) Anyways, the point of this is I would like to encourage people to extend our sense of equality over the boarders this holiday season. All people are people and should be treated fairly and have equal opportunity to success and happiness whether they are French, Iraqi, Cuban, Indian, Tanzanian or whatever. Please consider how you could be part of this change. What difference can you make? Volunteer for something or the holidays are always a good time to give a gift to an Aid Organization- I recommend Mercy Corps (www.mercycorps.org)
I hope the season is Merry and Bright. I love and miss all of you so much. Thanks you for the countless emails, packages and letters. I am so lucky to have all of you in my life. Be well.
Blessings,
Brie
www.brieintanzania.blogspot.com
"It's been a long December and there's reason to believe maybe this year will be better than the last. I can't remember all the times I tried to tell myself to hold on to these moments as they pass."
-Counting Crows
Just a note to wish you all Happy Holidays and a Wonderful New Year! Things are going fine in Tanzania, I am a little poorer than I expected to be but hamnashida, as we would say here. (No Problems).
Now for a little story: Just went to the bank which is the prime example of Tanzanian inefficiency as the bank is almost always an all day experience. As I am waiting in line (I had already been there for an hour) and man after man cuts in front of me. I know this is a cultural difference here but I start to get a little pissed off. I am not sure if it is because I am a woman and therefore a second class citizen or because I am white so they think I don't know what is going on. But finally when the fourth guy cuts me, I throw a big hissy fit in the bank. Now usually I am able to keep my temper under control, but not today. So I tell them in Swahili "Not Cool", basically. They laugh at me but give me my way. For the next two hours of line standing we all sort of joke about it... "Haha, the foreigner knows whats going on and wouldn't let it happen." But the whole experience made me realize that equality is very ingrained in our culture. It doesn't always play out but for the most part Americans value equality, fairness and justice and get angry when we feel we are not being treated in a just manner.
I began to think that for most Americans we only apply this rule to other Americans, not to people in other countries. We figure that's just the way things are. There were countless times while working for Mercy Corps that I heard Americans say things like, "Well, all Africans are poor, that's just the way things are." (This is entirely untrue, many are and some are not.) or "We should be helping people in our own country." (We should, but why should arbitrary borders justify who receives help?) Anyways, the point of this is I would like to encourage people to extend our sense of equality over the boarders this holiday season. All people are people and should be treated fairly and have equal opportunity to success and happiness whether they are French, Iraqi, Cuban, Indian, Tanzanian or whatever. Please consider how you could be part of this change. What difference can you make? Volunteer for something or the holidays are always a good time to give a gift to an Aid Organization- I recommend Mercy Corps (www.mercycorps.org)
I hope the season is Merry and Bright. I love and miss all of you so much. Thanks you for the countless emails, packages and letters. I am so lucky to have all of you in my life. Be well.
Blessings,
Brie
www.brieintanzania.blogspot.com
"It's been a long December and there's reason to believe maybe this year will be better than the last. I can't remember all the times I tried to tell myself to hold on to these moments as they pass."
-Counting Crows
Friday, December 12, 2008
Fighting Witchcraft in a Pine Forest
December 11, 2008
There is a new volunteer who lives very close to me. I wanted to go visit her, so I told Jen and Juster what I was doing. The tell me there is a shortcut to get to her school that makes the walk only 7k, they will take me there. I tell them just to point me in the direction but Juster is insistent that they accompany me. So I tell them I want to leave at 8 am Thursday morning, which I really have no intention of doing, but sometimes you have to lie about time to Tanzanians. I go to Juster's house at 9 am to find her drinking chai. She says, "Brie, Don't mind, but I need to bathe." This I have already predicted. I know we are going on a walk in the Southern Highlands, so I have not bathed, I put my hair in a ponytail, am in a grungy skirt and have brought water. At 9.15, Jen and Juster bathe, they wear the equivalent of Tanzanian prom dresses, they shine their high heeled sandals, they put on their best wigs and they even wear make up. I realize meeting another American is a big deal for them. So I drink chai for a hour and a half while they get ready to "Exercise". Finally, they are more decked out than when they go to church and we sent off.
The walk is exhausting as I predicted but they manage pretty well in their heels... they only have to be removed on one downhill slope. After a while one of them realizes we are lost and so they both pull out their cell phone and start babbling away to different male teachers, who are worried because they have me lost in the woods. I am not worried and more amused by my two Tanzanian best friends who are dressed up and lost in the woods. Juster is afraid I am scared though so she tells me that is someone comes to steal from me again that she and Jen will beat him and fight for me. I laugh, I can't help it, you should see how ridiculous they look, but I appreciate the back up, all the same. We decide on one direction and start going. Finally we reach some one's farm where a small girl is working. Jen asks her where this school is and she says nothing but starts to lead us. They both ask her questions, none of which she answers. Finally, they start to speak English to each other, so that the girl doesn't understand, but I do and it is hilarious.
Jen: This girl does not answer anything we say.
Juster: Yes, I do not like this. She has red eyes. She is a witch.
Jen: Yes, I have realized this.
Me: (In My Head): What? I Have not realized this! How did I miss the red eyes?
Juster: You must dismiss her. She might be trapping us. Look, there is a forest, she could kill us there.
Jen: We can dismiss her or else she will become offended and kill us anyway.
Juster: That is true. (Turns to me) Brie, quickly say a prayer to God to save us.
Me: (I have to laugh at this point and sometimes I like to mess with Juster... so I say:) How about I say a prayer to the Goddess who probably lives in one of these beautiful pine trees. (I bow my head) Dear Goddess please protect us from this small six year old child who has red eyes and wants to take us here to kill us....
Juster: Americans are really so weird. Josh believes in no God and you believe in a woman in a tree. It is not right.
Miraculously, we make it through the forest to the school and the girl doesn't kill us. Shocker.
I like Tally immediately, from her pretty smile to her talkative personality I will enjoy her company immensely. She will be teaching biology at an all girls secondary school and we have already come up with some project ideas to do together. She has only been at site for a week and in country for three months. She is coming to visit me at my site on Monday. We walk to town together to buy stuff to make dinner. A woman at one of the shops asks her a question. I glance over at Tally and she is looking at me expectantly. I think: "Who is this girl in my role? It is my job to look at another volunteer for a translation." I am shocked she is expecting me to know what is going on, but I am even more shocked that I understand what is going on. So I patiently translate and then help her to answer, but I think "Since when do I know Swahili?" After that I am surprised I know many things that she asks. I tell her tricks to start her charcoal jiko, teach her greetings in Kibena, draw her a map of PC sites in our region, teach her how to make a candle holder out of paper and a water bottle, and answer her many questions about living alone in Africa, that I asked only a few months ago. I am surprised I know any answers. Since when did I learn how to survive in Africa? How did I not notice the change? I thought I was still as helpless as ever. Furthermore she is actually impressed with what I have done here and what I know, with the fact that Juster tells me she loves me when we say good bye. And I think, "Yeah, Maybe I do have some good relationships and things going here." It is a weird feeling to be impressing anyone.
Today, I am in Njombe to sort out getting a new bank card. On Saturday, I am going to a BBQ at the Kibena Club with Zummi and Adina and then to their house to stay the night, which is about as close as you can get to a vacation here without spending any money. Looking forward to seeing them as it has been some time since I have been in Dar and they have gone to Arusha. The next time I will come through Njombe will be for X-mas, though it doesn't feel like that time of year. Next week I will plant my garden and get through another week here. As I fix my house up I wonder about all those people who said they wanted to come visit. Who will be the first person to buy a ticket? I know it is expensive for the flight, but not once you are here. If you want to come to Africa this is the time and the place. Tanzania is wonderful: Zanzibar, the Serengeti, Kilimanjaro and Me! Please try to visit.
There is a new volunteer who lives very close to me. I wanted to go visit her, so I told Jen and Juster what I was doing. The tell me there is a shortcut to get to her school that makes the walk only 7k, they will take me there. I tell them just to point me in the direction but Juster is insistent that they accompany me. So I tell them I want to leave at 8 am Thursday morning, which I really have no intention of doing, but sometimes you have to lie about time to Tanzanians. I go to Juster's house at 9 am to find her drinking chai. She says, "Brie, Don't mind, but I need to bathe." This I have already predicted. I know we are going on a walk in the Southern Highlands, so I have not bathed, I put my hair in a ponytail, am in a grungy skirt and have brought water. At 9.15, Jen and Juster bathe, they wear the equivalent of Tanzanian prom dresses, they shine their high heeled sandals, they put on their best wigs and they even wear make up. I realize meeting another American is a big deal for them. So I drink chai for a hour and a half while they get ready to "Exercise". Finally, they are more decked out than when they go to church and we sent off.
The walk is exhausting as I predicted but they manage pretty well in their heels... they only have to be removed on one downhill slope. After a while one of them realizes we are lost and so they both pull out their cell phone and start babbling away to different male teachers, who are worried because they have me lost in the woods. I am not worried and more amused by my two Tanzanian best friends who are dressed up and lost in the woods. Juster is afraid I am scared though so she tells me that is someone comes to steal from me again that she and Jen will beat him and fight for me. I laugh, I can't help it, you should see how ridiculous they look, but I appreciate the back up, all the same. We decide on one direction and start going. Finally we reach some one's farm where a small girl is working. Jen asks her where this school is and she says nothing but starts to lead us. They both ask her questions, none of which she answers. Finally, they start to speak English to each other, so that the girl doesn't understand, but I do and it is hilarious.
Jen: This girl does not answer anything we say.
Juster: Yes, I do not like this. She has red eyes. She is a witch.
Jen: Yes, I have realized this.
Me: (In My Head): What? I Have not realized this! How did I miss the red eyes?
Juster: You must dismiss her. She might be trapping us. Look, there is a forest, she could kill us there.
Jen: We can dismiss her or else she will become offended and kill us anyway.
Juster: That is true. (Turns to me) Brie, quickly say a prayer to God to save us.
Me: (I have to laugh at this point and sometimes I like to mess with Juster... so I say:) How about I say a prayer to the Goddess who probably lives in one of these beautiful pine trees. (I bow my head) Dear Goddess please protect us from this small six year old child who has red eyes and wants to take us here to kill us....
Juster: Americans are really so weird. Josh believes in no God and you believe in a woman in a tree. It is not right.
Miraculously, we make it through the forest to the school and the girl doesn't kill us. Shocker.
I like Tally immediately, from her pretty smile to her talkative personality I will enjoy her company immensely. She will be teaching biology at an all girls secondary school and we have already come up with some project ideas to do together. She has only been at site for a week and in country for three months. She is coming to visit me at my site on Monday. We walk to town together to buy stuff to make dinner. A woman at one of the shops asks her a question. I glance over at Tally and she is looking at me expectantly. I think: "Who is this girl in my role? It is my job to look at another volunteer for a translation." I am shocked she is expecting me to know what is going on, but I am even more shocked that I understand what is going on. So I patiently translate and then help her to answer, but I think "Since when do I know Swahili?" After that I am surprised I know many things that she asks. I tell her tricks to start her charcoal jiko, teach her greetings in Kibena, draw her a map of PC sites in our region, teach her how to make a candle holder out of paper and a water bottle, and answer her many questions about living alone in Africa, that I asked only a few months ago. I am surprised I know any answers. Since when did I learn how to survive in Africa? How did I not notice the change? I thought I was still as helpless as ever. Furthermore she is actually impressed with what I have done here and what I know, with the fact that Juster tells me she loves me when we say good bye. And I think, "Yeah, Maybe I do have some good relationships and things going here." It is a weird feeling to be impressing anyone.
Today, I am in Njombe to sort out getting a new bank card. On Saturday, I am going to a BBQ at the Kibena Club with Zummi and Adina and then to their house to stay the night, which is about as close as you can get to a vacation here without spending any money. Looking forward to seeing them as it has been some time since I have been in Dar and they have gone to Arusha. The next time I will come through Njombe will be for X-mas, though it doesn't feel like that time of year. Next week I will plant my garden and get through another week here. As I fix my house up I wonder about all those people who said they wanted to come visit. Who will be the first person to buy a ticket? I know it is expensive for the flight, but not once you are here. If you want to come to Africa this is the time and the place. Tanzania is wonderful: Zanzibar, the Serengeti, Kilimanjaro and Me! Please try to visit.
Kimulimuli and My First African Wedding
December 6, 2008
The day I got back to village I felt relieved. Lonely, but relieved. Juster and the rest of the teachers were appalled at what happened to me in Dar. Juster had been so worried since I did not answer any of her phone calls that she actually cried and hugged me when she saw me. Then she told me that I am never allowed to go anywhere again without her as my bodyguard. (Which she said in English... It is amazing the words she knows.) So on that note I told her about in-service training (IST) which is an all expense paid trip for me and my Tanzanian counterpart to attend a two week long conference with the rest of the PCVs down here in Iringa. I am not sure I have ever seen her so happy. She screamed with delight and she told me she will be dreaming about it until it happens in January.
I have been talking on the phone or texting with Roma on a daily basis this week. It has been great for my Kiswahili as he is patient and corrects me in our phone conversations and before I text him I have to write it all out and then pull out my dictionary to decipher his texts. I am in the process of planning a bike trip for me, Margaret, Teresa, and the two new volunteers out our way to go and visit him. It might not be until after IST, but he is pushing for next Tuesday... Haha. But I am glad he is excited to see us. He has already promised drumming and dancing and that he is going to come to my village to visit me soon.
And then there is Kimulimuli... Where do I start? I now own something that looks like Golom from Lord of the Rings. I have wondered often why I got into the business of helping people, when usually I prefer animals. Animals don't love conditionally, they are uncomplicated and I feel for them. Which I guess is how I ended up with a bat cat. Kimulimuli (Means firefly in Swahili) now officially live together, and everyday I am surprised that we have both made it through the day alive. Kimulimuli's soul goal in life is to drive me crazy. It is slightly bigger than my fist and the most pathetic animal you have ever met. It's eyes bug out of it's head. It's ears are abnormally large. Really it is the most ridiculous animal I have ever seen. It doesn't even clean itself or know how to retract it's claws. In fact, it can't do anything. It's mouth is always open making ridiculous noise, it can't be alone for a minute. I feed it and feed it and it eats and eats and already it has gained weight in the week we have co-habited. (But I am sure he would enjoy some high fat kitty treats from America). He climbs up me constantly... I am not sure what he would do once he got to my face but I don't want to find out. He is like a primary school student that you want to hold and love but are unsure of what you might catch if you do. It is hard to believe it is the same species and my beloved Angel Baby Cat in America. I don't know how I will ever get any work done with it all over me. Oh- I am going to get fleas. Being lonely might be better than this. I don't know why I wanted something to take care of. It is hard enough to care for myself.
I went to my first Tanzanian wedding today. I have been to eight funerals, so I am sort of an expert on those, but didn't know what to expect for a wedding. It was fun for about the first 3 hours, but for the last four I was tired and thirsty. (Yep- That's right seven hours, it took all day and there wasn't even any booze involved.) This wedding was a big deal because the man was from my village but the bride was from another one (Roma's actually, but he was not there.) So There was lots of excitement about the merging of the two communities. It started out inside the church but got too big and moved outside in the church yard and then moved again to this random central area in our village. There was a lot of singing, dancing, chanting, hooting, ululating, drumming and all around noise making. I doubt if you put a group of Americans together and told them to make noise at random it would sound good, but when Africans do it the noise somehow works and is beautiful. At I guess what would be the reception, I sat in these seats of honor with the rest of the male teachers, which was a bit weird because we are not related to the family, but the teachers in my village are considered the most important people, but somehow I always get segregated with the men. Until it was time for dancing when I was forced to dance with the female teachers in front of my entire village. Yep, that's right, Brie dancing in the middle of a random African village. Good thing the African dance classes paid off... my village loved it. I am not sure I have ever been so embarrassed, yet it was the biggest thing I have done so far to be included. I can tell suddenly now the villagers feel closer with me, like I am suddenly on there level. When I got home I found a present from Kimulimuli on my couch... and not the type you like to get.
The day I got back to village I felt relieved. Lonely, but relieved. Juster and the rest of the teachers were appalled at what happened to me in Dar. Juster had been so worried since I did not answer any of her phone calls that she actually cried and hugged me when she saw me. Then she told me that I am never allowed to go anywhere again without her as my bodyguard. (Which she said in English... It is amazing the words she knows.) So on that note I told her about in-service training (IST) which is an all expense paid trip for me and my Tanzanian counterpart to attend a two week long conference with the rest of the PCVs down here in Iringa. I am not sure I have ever seen her so happy. She screamed with delight and she told me she will be dreaming about it until it happens in January.
I have been talking on the phone or texting with Roma on a daily basis this week. It has been great for my Kiswahili as he is patient and corrects me in our phone conversations and before I text him I have to write it all out and then pull out my dictionary to decipher his texts. I am in the process of planning a bike trip for me, Margaret, Teresa, and the two new volunteers out our way to go and visit him. It might not be until after IST, but he is pushing for next Tuesday... Haha. But I am glad he is excited to see us. He has already promised drumming and dancing and that he is going to come to my village to visit me soon.
And then there is Kimulimuli... Where do I start? I now own something that looks like Golom from Lord of the Rings. I have wondered often why I got into the business of helping people, when usually I prefer animals. Animals don't love conditionally, they are uncomplicated and I feel for them. Which I guess is how I ended up with a bat cat. Kimulimuli (Means firefly in Swahili) now officially live together, and everyday I am surprised that we have both made it through the day alive. Kimulimuli's soul goal in life is to drive me crazy. It is slightly bigger than my fist and the most pathetic animal you have ever met. It's eyes bug out of it's head. It's ears are abnormally large. Really it is the most ridiculous animal I have ever seen. It doesn't even clean itself or know how to retract it's claws. In fact, it can't do anything. It's mouth is always open making ridiculous noise, it can't be alone for a minute. I feed it and feed it and it eats and eats and already it has gained weight in the week we have co-habited. (But I am sure he would enjoy some high fat kitty treats from America). He climbs up me constantly... I am not sure what he would do once he got to my face but I don't want to find out. He is like a primary school student that you want to hold and love but are unsure of what you might catch if you do. It is hard to believe it is the same species and my beloved Angel Baby Cat in America. I don't know how I will ever get any work done with it all over me. Oh- I am going to get fleas. Being lonely might be better than this. I don't know why I wanted something to take care of. It is hard enough to care for myself.
I went to my first Tanzanian wedding today. I have been to eight funerals, so I am sort of an expert on those, but didn't know what to expect for a wedding. It was fun for about the first 3 hours, but for the last four I was tired and thirsty. (Yep- That's right seven hours, it took all day and there wasn't even any booze involved.) This wedding was a big deal because the man was from my village but the bride was from another one (Roma's actually, but he was not there.) So There was lots of excitement about the merging of the two communities. It started out inside the church but got too big and moved outside in the church yard and then moved again to this random central area in our village. There was a lot of singing, dancing, chanting, hooting, ululating, drumming and all around noise making. I doubt if you put a group of Americans together and told them to make noise at random it would sound good, but when Africans do it the noise somehow works and is beautiful. At I guess what would be the reception, I sat in these seats of honor with the rest of the male teachers, which was a bit weird because we are not related to the family, but the teachers in my village are considered the most important people, but somehow I always get segregated with the men. Until it was time for dancing when I was forced to dance with the female teachers in front of my entire village. Yep, that's right, Brie dancing in the middle of a random African village. Good thing the African dance classes paid off... my village loved it. I am not sure I have ever been so embarrassed, yet it was the biggest thing I have done so far to be included. I can tell suddenly now the villagers feel closer with me, like I am suddenly on there level. When I got home I found a present from Kimulimuli on my couch... and not the type you like to get.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Moshi and that shithole we call our capital...
"Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose..."
-Janis
November 27- Now (December 4)
I went to Moshi (means "Smoke") for Thanksgiving. Moshi town is much bigger and more bustling than Njombe because it is the setting off point to trek Kilimanjaro. I like Moshi town although I am glad it is not my banking town as prices are high as it has tourism (unlike Njo, where the only reason why you would come down here is to visit me.) Moshi area looks a lot more like I pictured Africa looking. It is hot, green, mountainous and tropical-ish. I am only able to go on this vacation because Josh pays for everything- staying, eating, traveling, etc. Since I have no money. But I am relieved to not be left in Dar during Thanksgiving. So I walk around like a child, no phone, bag, money except when he gives me an allowance.
We go to another volunteer's site for Thanksgiving. Leigh is an Ed volunteer from Boston who has been in country for a year now. She lives a few hours outside of Moshi in a beautiful little village. Her house is adorable and has given me many ideas for how to decorate my own. There are about 15 volunteers from the region at her home and meeting them re-affirmed my belief that PCVs are great people on all ends of this country. We slept on mattresses covering every floor space of her house but one night we were awoken with one of the PCVs yelling because a scorpion had just stung him. It was pretty big and didn't live long with that many freaked out PCVs. Leigh had a big oven built in her yard. It is made of bricks with tin flaps for doors. There is a chamber to shovel charcoal in under where you can put food to cook.
On Thanksgiving we keep this oven blazing all day. Celebrating a holiday like Thanksgiving is a lot of work in Africa. People were up around six to start preparations and we didn't eat until maybe 8.30 pm. A volunteer had gotten a turkey, which some volunteers slaughtered while I hid in the house pretending it was not happening. It is pretty easy for many not eat meat here when you have to butcher the animal yourself. We eat dinner on the floor by the light of many candles (no electricity) and we go around with everyone saying what they are thankful for. (The common denominator is: each other.) We end up having to eat the pies first because they are ready and nothing else is. We have made pumpkin, mango and pineapple pies. Then we feast on green beans, macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and many many things. Doesn't quite seem exactly like Thanksgiving, but it was pretty close under the circumstances that we live. There is a huge rainstorm that day and Leigh and I run outside and dance in the mud puddles barefoot. We slide through the mud on cardboard and are soaked immediately. Her village might think we are a bit crazy :-) But she is awesome and we were enjoying the change in our seasons here.
I feel much better after spending some time in a village but it is time to go back to Dar es Salaam. I don't know if it is clear yet, but I hate the Port of "Peace". Let me paint you a picture of Dar: It is unbearable. The heat is oppressive. The mosquitoes are ruthless. It is dirty. It is crowded. You cannot walk two feet without someone yelling at you. Cars don't stop for pedestrians anywhere in Tanzania but with the traffic and crowds in Dar getting through town by foot is risking your life. But worse is riding a dala... crammed together with some people standing up or hanging out the door, the few traffic lights are only a guidelines. It should be said that the cars and roads are set up like England on the wrong side but in Tanzania every oncoming car is like a game of chicken: who is going which way? I close my eyes. I picture my village. One positive things that can be said about Dar is that the food is amazing. I ate a ton of Indian food- this is pretty much Dar's only redeeming quality. I hate being back there as I have to face that many of my friends are COSing and heading back to the states and the fact that I have no money and now have to go to the PC office to deal with this.
Turns out PC wants a copy of the police report... great... back to the Police Station. Josh goes with me and it takes over an hour to retain this "copy". The central police station in the biggest city in this country is sort of a joke. Of course there are no computers and room after room we are lead into just has stacks and stacks of yellow, crinkled papers- some filing system. They finally find mine, but the guy has to hand write the "copy". Efficiency is something that is lost in this country. While he is writing he stops often to chat with people, check his phone, talk to us about nothing related... it is an experience.
My last night in Dar we decide to go all out as it has been a rough time. Josh, Benja, and Jonathan (All heading back to America), Tom (an SPW volunteer), Patrick and Megan (RPCVs who have stayed and work in Dar) and I all go out to celebrate. We go to the nicest hotel in the city. It has fountain and pools in front and a red carpet. I can't even believe it is in Tanzania. We have dinner in this private banquet hall with a rose petal centerpiece. We drink chilled white wine. The staff thinks we are really important, little do they know they are catering to a bunch on PCVs. After dinner we go up to have drinks on the roof. It is really a beautiful night but difficult as I say goodbye to so many of my friends.
The next day I am on a bus back to Njombe. As we climb the last hill to get into town and I see the pine trees swaying in the never ceasing wind. It begins to pour rain as the sky darkens and turns into the biggest lightening and thunderstorm I have ever seen. To an extent I have never felt more lonely or depressed as I return to my banking town alone just in time for the sky to open up. I have nothing. Though, somewhere inside there is a sense of peace. Recognition of what is familiar. I am alone, but I am the only constant.
-Janis
November 27- Now (December 4)
I went to Moshi (means "Smoke") for Thanksgiving. Moshi town is much bigger and more bustling than Njombe because it is the setting off point to trek Kilimanjaro. I like Moshi town although I am glad it is not my banking town as prices are high as it has tourism (unlike Njo, where the only reason why you would come down here is to visit me.) Moshi area looks a lot more like I pictured Africa looking. It is hot, green, mountainous and tropical-ish. I am only able to go on this vacation because Josh pays for everything- staying, eating, traveling, etc. Since I have no money. But I am relieved to not be left in Dar during Thanksgiving. So I walk around like a child, no phone, bag, money except when he gives me an allowance.
We go to another volunteer's site for Thanksgiving. Leigh is an Ed volunteer from Boston who has been in country for a year now. She lives a few hours outside of Moshi in a beautiful little village. Her house is adorable and has given me many ideas for how to decorate my own. There are about 15 volunteers from the region at her home and meeting them re-affirmed my belief that PCVs are great people on all ends of this country. We slept on mattresses covering every floor space of her house but one night we were awoken with one of the PCVs yelling because a scorpion had just stung him. It was pretty big and didn't live long with that many freaked out PCVs. Leigh had a big oven built in her yard. It is made of bricks with tin flaps for doors. There is a chamber to shovel charcoal in under where you can put food to cook.
On Thanksgiving we keep this oven blazing all day. Celebrating a holiday like Thanksgiving is a lot of work in Africa. People were up around six to start preparations and we didn't eat until maybe 8.30 pm. A volunteer had gotten a turkey, which some volunteers slaughtered while I hid in the house pretending it was not happening. It is pretty easy for many not eat meat here when you have to butcher the animal yourself. We eat dinner on the floor by the light of many candles (no electricity) and we go around with everyone saying what they are thankful for. (The common denominator is: each other.) We end up having to eat the pies first because they are ready and nothing else is. We have made pumpkin, mango and pineapple pies. Then we feast on green beans, macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and many many things. Doesn't quite seem exactly like Thanksgiving, but it was pretty close under the circumstances that we live. There is a huge rainstorm that day and Leigh and I run outside and dance in the mud puddles barefoot. We slide through the mud on cardboard and are soaked immediately. Her village might think we are a bit crazy :-) But she is awesome and we were enjoying the change in our seasons here.
I feel much better after spending some time in a village but it is time to go back to Dar es Salaam. I don't know if it is clear yet, but I hate the Port of "Peace". Let me paint you a picture of Dar: It is unbearable. The heat is oppressive. The mosquitoes are ruthless. It is dirty. It is crowded. You cannot walk two feet without someone yelling at you. Cars don't stop for pedestrians anywhere in Tanzania but with the traffic and crowds in Dar getting through town by foot is risking your life. But worse is riding a dala... crammed together with some people standing up or hanging out the door, the few traffic lights are only a guidelines. It should be said that the cars and roads are set up like England on the wrong side but in Tanzania every oncoming car is like a game of chicken: who is going which way? I close my eyes. I picture my village. One positive things that can be said about Dar is that the food is amazing. I ate a ton of Indian food- this is pretty much Dar's only redeeming quality. I hate being back there as I have to face that many of my friends are COSing and heading back to the states and the fact that I have no money and now have to go to the PC office to deal with this.
Turns out PC wants a copy of the police report... great... back to the Police Station. Josh goes with me and it takes over an hour to retain this "copy". The central police station in the biggest city in this country is sort of a joke. Of course there are no computers and room after room we are lead into just has stacks and stacks of yellow, crinkled papers- some filing system. They finally find mine, but the guy has to hand write the "copy". Efficiency is something that is lost in this country. While he is writing he stops often to chat with people, check his phone, talk to us about nothing related... it is an experience.
My last night in Dar we decide to go all out as it has been a rough time. Josh, Benja, and Jonathan (All heading back to America), Tom (an SPW volunteer), Patrick and Megan (RPCVs who have stayed and work in Dar) and I all go out to celebrate. We go to the nicest hotel in the city. It has fountain and pools in front and a red carpet. I can't even believe it is in Tanzania. We have dinner in this private banquet hall with a rose petal centerpiece. We drink chilled white wine. The staff thinks we are really important, little do they know they are catering to a bunch on PCVs. After dinner we go up to have drinks on the roof. It is really a beautiful night but difficult as I say goodbye to so many of my friends.
The next day I am on a bus back to Njombe. As we climb the last hill to get into town and I see the pine trees swaying in the never ceasing wind. It begins to pour rain as the sky darkens and turns into the biggest lightening and thunderstorm I have ever seen. To an extent I have never felt more lonely or depressed as I return to my banking town alone just in time for the sky to open up. I have nothing. Though, somewhere inside there is a sense of peace. Recognition of what is familiar. I am alone, but I am the only constant.
New Phone Number
Yay! I have a phone.
New Number From the States Dial: +255 788244289
I still have no service at my site for talking but can receive texts and talk when I am in town.
New Number From the States Dial: +255 788244289
I still have no service at my site for talking but can receive texts and talk when I am in town.
Friday, November 28, 2008
I have been mugged
November 26, 2008
I have been mugged in the Port of Peace. It feels a bit weird to even write that. I guess I will just launch into the story, but I am still sort of in shock that it actually happened. My last entry about finding gratitude in your everyday experience couldn't have been more right on for advice I need to take at this moment as I alternate emotions from anger, to fear, to gratitude, to deep sadness. But overall, I can't catch a break here, even on vacation.
I go to Dar es Salaam to meet up with my friends Josh and Benja, both who are there for close of service before they return to the states. I am having a good time having them show me around the big city. We are eating good food, enjoying being on vacation, and seeing the sites of our capital city. I feel good because I am with two guys, both of who speak Swahili and know there way around Dar. The second night I am there Josh and I make plans to meet up with Benja at where he is staying with some expats. He is going to cook everyone a big dinner and we are going to watch movies. Josh and I leave around 6.00 PM. We are walking, it gets dark in Tanzania between 6.30-7, so it is still light. I am walking along enjoying the sight of the Indian Ocean, which I have waited my whole life to see. We take a wrong turn, but Josh knows where we are so I feel fine. It is dusk now, about 6.30.
I hear yelling behind me, I turn as three guys come running out of the bushes. Then everything happens really fast. They are on us before I can even think to run or do anything. (And they are Tanzanian, so obviously I would have been outrun immediately.) Two of them grab Josh, around the arms/neck whatever. The third one grabs me. The next thing I know, I am on the ground. I am unsure of how exactly I got there. He is ripping my cloth Iringa bag off me, but I have it crossed over my body. He is yelling obscenities at me in broken English and Kiswahili. I can hear Josh telling them in Kiswahili that we will give them anything, if they don't hurt me. I am pretty sure I am making no sound. I have always wondered what I will do in a situation like this. It is happening so fast though that it is difficult to know what to do. How much do I struggle? There is something unknown about being from different cultures also- I don't know the kind of desperation that they are acting on. About this time, since I am on the ground, I see the Panga (Tanzanian machete) in front of my face. I am not sure how sharp they are but I know they can cause some damage. A few years ago a PCV was in Arusha, she was robbed, and then took a panga to the back of the head. She was hospitalized and had to shave her head and get stitches, but heroically she finished her service. I think about her while I am on the ground. That is the most clear thought I have. Then I hear Josh telling me to give them my bag. So I stop struggling and pull it over my head. Then I watch for a second as my beautiful earthtone Iringa bag goes off into the night inside enclosing the most expensive things I own in my life here: My Peace Corps identification, my mini-med kit, my camera, my cell phone with every number of anyone important in my life on both sides of the world, my Washington Mutual bank card which I have just used to pull out $300 of my hard earned money from home to buy Christmas gifts for my family- that money is also all in there. My Tanzania NBC bank card, as well as about $100 worth of money from that account. And lastly; 2 of my favorite American lip glosses.
I can't think of that stuff now because Josh grabs my hand and yells "Brie, run!" The first thing I can remember saying is begging him not to leave me behind, which was sort of silly because he wasn't going to but fear of being caught again made me scared. We ran into the street which is a stupid thing to do any where but particularly here, but a car stopped for us and we got in. It was a Tanzanian couple who drove us to the police station. In the car, I got a bit hysterical, honestly. I was so focused on my material loss. Josh had had his phone stolen out of his pocket and his shirt had been ripped but apparently these Tanzanians didn't realize that American men keep their wallets in their back pockets because miraculously that was still there. So we still had his PC ID and his money. He is feeling thankful I am okay and we are not going to the hospital. So while I am crying, he is telling me that none of that matters because I am alive, but I don't feel thankful, yet.
We walk into Dar's Central Police Station just in time for the electricity to go out. The officer lights a candle which we do business by. I am afraid of Tanzania's police as they are notoriously corrupt. But this officer is kind and tells me not to cry. I could not be more thankful to be with Josh, who holds it together. So that while I sit crying, mosquitos flocking about me (If I get malaria from this, that is icing on the cake), covered in dirt (From being on the ground), and sweat (You cannot get any hotter in Tanzania than Dar es Salaam), I survey my damage- only some scratches and bruises. Josh files a police report, he calls the PC officer on duty, he calls our Safety and Security personnel at PC (All calls made from the police phone). He makes sure PC will call Benja, who we are sure is worried. Then he gets us a taxi, so we can go home.
We are starving, so we go to Indian food next to our hotel. Throughout the evening I ride on ups and downs. "It is only material possessions." "I am lucky to be okay." " My camera... My phone..." But there is also this anger, like I felt when the guy tried to get in my car in Downtown Portland- "How dare they make me feel fear." It is funny while it was happening I was more worried about my stuff, there was never really a moment I thought anything would happen to me. Josh says that me on the ground was what he was worried about and he didn't think about our stuff and only making sure I wasn't hurt. It is only later I have some Post Traumatic Stress from the situation of having guys with machetes jump on you. Today, I am suddenly afraid of Tanzanian men, which I wasn't before. When they run, move quickly or talk to me, I am scared. It is a difficult thing to be afraid of fifty percent of the country you live in. I haven't gotten six inches away from Josh, which isn't a very sustainable solution as he leaves the country in five days. I hate that I feel like this. I worked so hard to get over any fear or worry over Africans. I believed that they are safe, warm people who are happy to have us here. That night I wanted to go home. I didn't like this country, I didn't like these people. I hate that these men decided to prove Americans fears about Africans right, as I have tried so hard to trust and love them. I cried and cried. Josh reminded my that these men are not my service and maybe they are the reason why we serve to keep kids in school to help people in the developing world have other options besides desperation. We focused on that we are safe, our parents, siblings and partners in the states are safe (as far as we know), the other volunteers we love are safe. We recalled all the Tanzanians who love us, who will be appalled that this happened to us: Juster, Roma, and so many other friends we have in our villages and Njombe. We spent moments appreciating Njombe- it's cool climate, small town atmosphere where we are never harassed and run into someone we know every few feet. This is my service: Njombe, my village and my villagers.
We are now in Moshi. I have no money or way to get it, no ID, no phone, and no camera to photograph Kilimanjaro. I have nothing. I will be back in Dar on Tuesday, where PC will help me figure all this out, where I will buy a new phone. In the meantime- please send me your phone number- brienneblacklidge@gmail.com. I will post my new number once I have it. Please be patient as I put my life back together. I am just a stupid girl who had too many important things together in an African city capital. Never a good idea. So this Thanksgiving, I learn a lesson and I try to remain thankful for my health and the health of those I love.
I have been mugged in the Port of Peace. It feels a bit weird to even write that. I guess I will just launch into the story, but I am still sort of in shock that it actually happened. My last entry about finding gratitude in your everyday experience couldn't have been more right on for advice I need to take at this moment as I alternate emotions from anger, to fear, to gratitude, to deep sadness. But overall, I can't catch a break here, even on vacation.
I go to Dar es Salaam to meet up with my friends Josh and Benja, both who are there for close of service before they return to the states. I am having a good time having them show me around the big city. We are eating good food, enjoying being on vacation, and seeing the sites of our capital city. I feel good because I am with two guys, both of who speak Swahili and know there way around Dar. The second night I am there Josh and I make plans to meet up with Benja at where he is staying with some expats. He is going to cook everyone a big dinner and we are going to watch movies. Josh and I leave around 6.00 PM. We are walking, it gets dark in Tanzania between 6.30-7, so it is still light. I am walking along enjoying the sight of the Indian Ocean, which I have waited my whole life to see. We take a wrong turn, but Josh knows where we are so I feel fine. It is dusk now, about 6.30.
I hear yelling behind me, I turn as three guys come running out of the bushes. Then everything happens really fast. They are on us before I can even think to run or do anything. (And they are Tanzanian, so obviously I would have been outrun immediately.) Two of them grab Josh, around the arms/neck whatever. The third one grabs me. The next thing I know, I am on the ground. I am unsure of how exactly I got there. He is ripping my cloth Iringa bag off me, but I have it crossed over my body. He is yelling obscenities at me in broken English and Kiswahili. I can hear Josh telling them in Kiswahili that we will give them anything, if they don't hurt me. I am pretty sure I am making no sound. I have always wondered what I will do in a situation like this. It is happening so fast though that it is difficult to know what to do. How much do I struggle? There is something unknown about being from different cultures also- I don't know the kind of desperation that they are acting on. About this time, since I am on the ground, I see the Panga (Tanzanian machete) in front of my face. I am not sure how sharp they are but I know they can cause some damage. A few years ago a PCV was in Arusha, she was robbed, and then took a panga to the back of the head. She was hospitalized and had to shave her head and get stitches, but heroically she finished her service. I think about her while I am on the ground. That is the most clear thought I have. Then I hear Josh telling me to give them my bag. So I stop struggling and pull it over my head. Then I watch for a second as my beautiful earthtone Iringa bag goes off into the night inside enclosing the most expensive things I own in my life here: My Peace Corps identification, my mini-med kit, my camera, my cell phone with every number of anyone important in my life on both sides of the world, my Washington Mutual bank card which I have just used to pull out $300 of my hard earned money from home to buy Christmas gifts for my family- that money is also all in there. My Tanzania NBC bank card, as well as about $100 worth of money from that account. And lastly; 2 of my favorite American lip glosses.
I can't think of that stuff now because Josh grabs my hand and yells "Brie, run!" The first thing I can remember saying is begging him not to leave me behind, which was sort of silly because he wasn't going to but fear of being caught again made me scared. We ran into the street which is a stupid thing to do any where but particularly here, but a car stopped for us and we got in. It was a Tanzanian couple who drove us to the police station. In the car, I got a bit hysterical, honestly. I was so focused on my material loss. Josh had had his phone stolen out of his pocket and his shirt had been ripped but apparently these Tanzanians didn't realize that American men keep their wallets in their back pockets because miraculously that was still there. So we still had his PC ID and his money. He is feeling thankful I am okay and we are not going to the hospital. So while I am crying, he is telling me that none of that matters because I am alive, but I don't feel thankful, yet.
We walk into Dar's Central Police Station just in time for the electricity to go out. The officer lights a candle which we do business by. I am afraid of Tanzania's police as they are notoriously corrupt. But this officer is kind and tells me not to cry. I could not be more thankful to be with Josh, who holds it together. So that while I sit crying, mosquitos flocking about me (If I get malaria from this, that is icing on the cake), covered in dirt (From being on the ground), and sweat (You cannot get any hotter in Tanzania than Dar es Salaam), I survey my damage- only some scratches and bruises. Josh files a police report, he calls the PC officer on duty, he calls our Safety and Security personnel at PC (All calls made from the police phone). He makes sure PC will call Benja, who we are sure is worried. Then he gets us a taxi, so we can go home.
We are starving, so we go to Indian food next to our hotel. Throughout the evening I ride on ups and downs. "It is only material possessions." "I am lucky to be okay." " My camera... My phone..." But there is also this anger, like I felt when the guy tried to get in my car in Downtown Portland- "How dare they make me feel fear." It is funny while it was happening I was more worried about my stuff, there was never really a moment I thought anything would happen to me. Josh says that me on the ground was what he was worried about and he didn't think about our stuff and only making sure I wasn't hurt. It is only later I have some Post Traumatic Stress from the situation of having guys with machetes jump on you. Today, I am suddenly afraid of Tanzanian men, which I wasn't before. When they run, move quickly or talk to me, I am scared. It is a difficult thing to be afraid of fifty percent of the country you live in. I haven't gotten six inches away from Josh, which isn't a very sustainable solution as he leaves the country in five days. I hate that I feel like this. I worked so hard to get over any fear or worry over Africans. I believed that they are safe, warm people who are happy to have us here. That night I wanted to go home. I didn't like this country, I didn't like these people. I hate that these men decided to prove Americans fears about Africans right, as I have tried so hard to trust and love them. I cried and cried. Josh reminded my that these men are not my service and maybe they are the reason why we serve to keep kids in school to help people in the developing world have other options besides desperation. We focused on that we are safe, our parents, siblings and partners in the states are safe (as far as we know), the other volunteers we love are safe. We recalled all the Tanzanians who love us, who will be appalled that this happened to us: Juster, Roma, and so many other friends we have in our villages and Njombe. We spent moments appreciating Njombe- it's cool climate, small town atmosphere where we are never harassed and run into someone we know every few feet. This is my service: Njombe, my village and my villagers.
We are now in Moshi. I have no money or way to get it, no ID, no phone, and no camera to photograph Kilimanjaro. I have nothing. I will be back in Dar on Tuesday, where PC will help me figure all this out, where I will buy a new phone. In the meantime- please send me your phone number- brienneblacklidge@gmail.com. I will post my new number once I have it. Please be patient as I put my life back together. I am just a stupid girl who had too many important things together in an African city capital. Never a good idea. So this Thanksgiving, I learn a lesson and I try to remain thankful for my health and the health of those I love.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Thanksgiving Wishes
"Celebrate we will. Because life is short but sweet, for certain."
-DMB
Dear Family and Friends,
I hope you are all happy and healthy this Thanksgiving. Just a little note to say how thankful I am for having each of you in my life. The past six months have been pretty rough, but rewarding for me. Tanzania has provided me with multiple challenges, but we all knew it would. Even so, I am still grateful to have the experience of living in Africa as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Sometimes it is important to see the beauty in what is difficult. I have appreciated all the love and support that has been sent to me over this period of time by all of you!
Tanzania is a country where people are thankful for whatever blessings they receive- good food, rain, safe transport, friendship... As Americans, I think we get busy and forget to find wonder and appreciation in our everyday experience. I hope this holiday allows you to rekindle gratitude for the small blessings in each day. Happy Thanksgiving!
I love and miss all of you so much,
Brie
-DMB
Dear Family and Friends,
I hope you are all happy and healthy this Thanksgiving. Just a little note to say how thankful I am for having each of you in my life. The past six months have been pretty rough, but rewarding for me. Tanzania has provided me with multiple challenges, but we all knew it would. Even so, I am still grateful to have the experience of living in Africa as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Sometimes it is important to see the beauty in what is difficult. I have appreciated all the love and support that has been sent to me over this period of time by all of you!
Tanzania is a country where people are thankful for whatever blessings they receive- good food, rain, safe transport, friendship... As Americans, I think we get busy and forget to find wonder and appreciation in our everyday experience. I hope this holiday allows you to rekindle gratitude for the small blessings in each day. Happy Thanksgiving!
I love and miss all of you so much,
Brie
Monday, November 24, 2008
Finding Purpose
"He who is able, thinks he is able."
- Buddha
November 23, 2008
I try to figure out my village's need this week. My village is poor. This might sound like an obvious statement, but I have gotten used to thatched roofs, barefoot children and bad roads- but I think we might really be poor. I went to two village meetings, one at the ungodly hour of 6.30 am so that it doesn't interfere too much with a day of farming. I stand in front with the community leaders and introduce myself. It is intimidating but people are kind.
Then I decide to hold my own interview with Mzee Ngoda (Lit. Old Man Ngoda)- he is my neighbor, one of the founders of the village and the one who everyone believes is a wizard. Most people are afraid of him but treat him with respect. I figure he will be a good person to know what the village needs. I make Juster come along because I need her help translating. She doesn't want to go but agree because "we are best friends". Along the way we meet the village driver, Stanley, the one with the crush on me, however, he is a totally innocent boy. Juster asks him to accompany us, because she is scared. She crosses herself as we go into his home. I feel a bit like a brat for making her go, but we could do with a little village adventure. Katherine walks by on her way to visit me, so she tags along too. Pretty soon we are joined by an out of school youth friend of Stanley's, the head teacher's wife and two other women (all with babies strapped to their backs) and Mzee Ngoda's son who is also the leader of our sub-village. (Turns out most of the village is related to Mzee, as he has 15 kids). So as you can tell this is an eclectic group of villagers, with Juster running the show in her high pitched, loud, lively voice. Oh, how I love that woman. The house is filthy and most people have to sit on the floor. But I start asking questions: What is the biggest problem in the village? What are the health issues? What resources could we use? And amazingly, everyone is really open to sharing their views. Katherine is even encouraged to talk about issues for children.
I find out my village is 3,500 people. Now about 1,000 are enrolled in primary school more are that age and not going, almost every woman has a baby on her back, so I would say all in all there can't be more that 1,000 villagers over the age of 27. I am waiting for the exact break down though. I find out that transport is a big problem (Obviously- I know this) The roads are bad and we have no cars for people and during the rainy season our one village car might not run (Gasp!What!?!) How will I get to Njombe? My saving grace when I am tired of being a Tanzanian Villager! Luckily at the end of this month a new volunteer is going in only 9 K from me. She is along the main road so she has good transport. I can walk 9k in the rain- I am an Oregonian, after all. My village is the only PCV village I know of without regular transport. When I ask why, they tell me money. So we are sort of isolated, no wonder people stare at me. For school a big problem is kids who finish primary school and do well on their exams cannot afford to go to secondary school, so they stop going to school all together. For the first year of secondary school it costs about $150 USD, which is expensive by TZ standards. Our village health center has no microscope, the critical ingredient in checking to see if one has Malaria as well as any number of illnesses. So villagers must go to town to get tested and you can see how easy that is.
The most shocking moment is when I ask what they know about HIV/AIDS and prevention methods- they answer "Nothing." What? I am afraid I didn't hear right? Who has known nothing about this since 1986? So I ask again. Katherine says, "Nothing". Okay, she is seven. Stanley's friend says he knows one is supposed to use condoms, but they are expensive and don't work. All the women shake their heads "No". Juster says- "I know, Brie." So, great, the most educated person who is not from our village and studies in Uganda knows how to prevent AIDS.
So-Plan: Easy Stuff: Health class through art at Primary School for girls and boys, Girls Empowerment and Life Skills group at my home after school, a few weekend seminars at the village dispensary- ideas: Nutrition and Children (For Mothers), HIV/AIDS Education- For community... more to come. Write grant for a microscope at dispensary. Hard Stuff: Start some kind of sustainable scholarship program for Primary School students who do well on their exams but cannot afford Secondary School. Write grant for village library (probably won't see the results but maybe the next volunteer at my site would continue it.) Figure out how to make a bus come down our road- (Yeah, Right. Have you seen our road? I am afraid of walking on our road.) The next day Juster says she had nightmares all the night before and thinks we were bewitched at Mzee Ngoda's- I thank her profusely for going.
So I am finally getting a cat- if it lives until I get back from Dar es Salaam. I wanted the two that the Mwalimu Mkuu had, but he told me they ran away. I waited too long, but I was not ready to be a good cat owner before now. I was sad, the next day he tells me he has a cat for me. I go to his home. In the kitchen curled up in a tiny ball next to the cooking fire is the boniest, dirtiest, homeliest, little kitten I have ever seen. It is tiny, hips and vertebrae protruding through matted white and orange blotchy fur. It puts up no fight when I try to hold it. And I think: Do I really want this cat? But I remember Timon- and we all thought he was homely, now he is the love of my family's life. I think it will be so hard if I take this cat and he dies. But I feel drawn to him- plus what other option does he have? He looks like an outcast and an underdog- so of course, I love him, but not too much because I have to make sure he is still there when I return from my Thanksgiving break.
I spent most of the day at a teacher's home, Mama Latifah. She was very sick. Tanzanians do this weird thing, where when someone is sick they all go and visit them and cram into the same room with them. It is maybe the exact opposite of what Americans do, which is wanting to be mostly alone and watch TV or sleep and visitors shy away from the sick. But sickness is a part of life here and hard to avoid. Since Tanzanians mostly don't have TVs, I guess they need company for their entertainment. So we crowd around Mama Latifah, curled up on her couch. There was a huge thunder/lightning and rainstorm that day while I was there. Let's just say the thatched roofing works to an extent but we started to get pretty wet. We had a lively discussion about marriage and children over Mama Latifah's sleeping head. Tanzanians find it fascinating that Americans will get married but not have any children. "What kind of marriage is that? You are not a real woman if you do not have children, Brie." They are always very happy when they discover how many kids my parents have. I don't try to explain adoption. When they find out I am the oldest this is always met with a "Hongera" (Congrats). I am not sure why being the oldest deserves this response.
One of my most memorable moments in Tanzania happened today. Imelda, the orphan who lives with Juster, has just finished Primary School. She got into Secondary School, but Juster cannot afford to send her, as she is already paying for two of her younger sisters to attend. Juster told me that Imelda will have to be married (She is 15) and maybe her husband will agree to send her. They have talked about this and she understands that this will be her fate. Imelda is a good girl, she is good in school, kind, and has had a hard life. I told Juster I would put her through her first year. I know PCVs putting multiple kids through secondary school on our small stipend, so I know it is possible. I know there are dozens more like her in my village, but I know her and it will make a difference in her life. Juster called Imelda in and told her that I had agreed to pay for this as long as she got good grades and that she would not have to find a husband. The girl's eyes welled up with tears, she dropped to her knees in front of where I was sitting, clasped her hands together almost like she was praying and said, "Asante sana, Mama Mdogo." (Thank you, young aunt) She looked shocked overwhelmed and happy. I asked if she wanted to go to school and she nodded. I think I have never given a better gift, than the gift of education. It is not really sustainable to be giving these hand outs and not really what we as PCVs are supposed to be doing. We don't really have any money. But I don't know one PCV who hasn't believed in a Tanzanian and given them money, put them through school, put money toward them starting a business, etc. I think it goes against our nature to not share what we have to offer on all levels. And if she is really inspired to learn, than education in itself is sustainable. Selfishly, it was a pretty good feeling to give it. Really, I think it was a gift for both of us- she needs to go to school and I need to find some purpose in Tanzania. It was nice in all of my difficulties to be important to and loved by someone.
- Buddha
November 23, 2008
I try to figure out my village's need this week. My village is poor. This might sound like an obvious statement, but I have gotten used to thatched roofs, barefoot children and bad roads- but I think we might really be poor. I went to two village meetings, one at the ungodly hour of 6.30 am so that it doesn't interfere too much with a day of farming. I stand in front with the community leaders and introduce myself. It is intimidating but people are kind.
Then I decide to hold my own interview with Mzee Ngoda (Lit. Old Man Ngoda)- he is my neighbor, one of the founders of the village and the one who everyone believes is a wizard. Most people are afraid of him but treat him with respect. I figure he will be a good person to know what the village needs. I make Juster come along because I need her help translating. She doesn't want to go but agree because "we are best friends". Along the way we meet the village driver, Stanley, the one with the crush on me, however, he is a totally innocent boy. Juster asks him to accompany us, because she is scared. She crosses herself as we go into his home. I feel a bit like a brat for making her go, but we could do with a little village adventure. Katherine walks by on her way to visit me, so she tags along too. Pretty soon we are joined by an out of school youth friend of Stanley's, the head teacher's wife and two other women (all with babies strapped to their backs) and Mzee Ngoda's son who is also the leader of our sub-village. (Turns out most of the village is related to Mzee, as he has 15 kids). So as you can tell this is an eclectic group of villagers, with Juster running the show in her high pitched, loud, lively voice. Oh, how I love that woman. The house is filthy and most people have to sit on the floor. But I start asking questions: What is the biggest problem in the village? What are the health issues? What resources could we use? And amazingly, everyone is really open to sharing their views. Katherine is even encouraged to talk about issues for children.
I find out my village is 3,500 people. Now about 1,000 are enrolled in primary school more are that age and not going, almost every woman has a baby on her back, so I would say all in all there can't be more that 1,000 villagers over the age of 27. I am waiting for the exact break down though. I find out that transport is a big problem (Obviously- I know this) The roads are bad and we have no cars for people and during the rainy season our one village car might not run (Gasp!What!?!) How will I get to Njombe? My saving grace when I am tired of being a Tanzanian Villager! Luckily at the end of this month a new volunteer is going in only 9 K from me. She is along the main road so she has good transport. I can walk 9k in the rain- I am an Oregonian, after all. My village is the only PCV village I know of without regular transport. When I ask why, they tell me money. So we are sort of isolated, no wonder people stare at me. For school a big problem is kids who finish primary school and do well on their exams cannot afford to go to secondary school, so they stop going to school all together. For the first year of secondary school it costs about $150 USD, which is expensive by TZ standards. Our village health center has no microscope, the critical ingredient in checking to see if one has Malaria as well as any number of illnesses. So villagers must go to town to get tested and you can see how easy that is.
The most shocking moment is when I ask what they know about HIV/AIDS and prevention methods- they answer "Nothing." What? I am afraid I didn't hear right? Who has known nothing about this since 1986? So I ask again. Katherine says, "Nothing". Okay, she is seven. Stanley's friend says he knows one is supposed to use condoms, but they are expensive and don't work. All the women shake their heads "No". Juster says- "I know, Brie." So, great, the most educated person who is not from our village and studies in Uganda knows how to prevent AIDS.
So-Plan: Easy Stuff: Health class through art at Primary School for girls and boys, Girls Empowerment and Life Skills group at my home after school, a few weekend seminars at the village dispensary- ideas: Nutrition and Children (For Mothers), HIV/AIDS Education- For community... more to come. Write grant for a microscope at dispensary. Hard Stuff: Start some kind of sustainable scholarship program for Primary School students who do well on their exams but cannot afford Secondary School. Write grant for village library (probably won't see the results but maybe the next volunteer at my site would continue it.) Figure out how to make a bus come down our road- (Yeah, Right. Have you seen our road? I am afraid of walking on our road.) The next day Juster says she had nightmares all the night before and thinks we were bewitched at Mzee Ngoda's- I thank her profusely for going.
So I am finally getting a cat- if it lives until I get back from Dar es Salaam. I wanted the two that the Mwalimu Mkuu had, but he told me they ran away. I waited too long, but I was not ready to be a good cat owner before now. I was sad, the next day he tells me he has a cat for me. I go to his home. In the kitchen curled up in a tiny ball next to the cooking fire is the boniest, dirtiest, homeliest, little kitten I have ever seen. It is tiny, hips and vertebrae protruding through matted white and orange blotchy fur. It puts up no fight when I try to hold it. And I think: Do I really want this cat? But I remember Timon- and we all thought he was homely, now he is the love of my family's life. I think it will be so hard if I take this cat and he dies. But I feel drawn to him- plus what other option does he have? He looks like an outcast and an underdog- so of course, I love him, but not too much because I have to make sure he is still there when I return from my Thanksgiving break.
I spent most of the day at a teacher's home, Mama Latifah. She was very sick. Tanzanians do this weird thing, where when someone is sick they all go and visit them and cram into the same room with them. It is maybe the exact opposite of what Americans do, which is wanting to be mostly alone and watch TV or sleep and visitors shy away from the sick. But sickness is a part of life here and hard to avoid. Since Tanzanians mostly don't have TVs, I guess they need company for their entertainment. So we crowd around Mama Latifah, curled up on her couch. There was a huge thunder/lightning and rainstorm that day while I was there. Let's just say the thatched roofing works to an extent but we started to get pretty wet. We had a lively discussion about marriage and children over Mama Latifah's sleeping head. Tanzanians find it fascinating that Americans will get married but not have any children. "What kind of marriage is that? You are not a real woman if you do not have children, Brie." They are always very happy when they discover how many kids my parents have. I don't try to explain adoption. When they find out I am the oldest this is always met with a "Hongera" (Congrats). I am not sure why being the oldest deserves this response.
One of my most memorable moments in Tanzania happened today. Imelda, the orphan who lives with Juster, has just finished Primary School. She got into Secondary School, but Juster cannot afford to send her, as she is already paying for two of her younger sisters to attend. Juster told me that Imelda will have to be married (She is 15) and maybe her husband will agree to send her. They have talked about this and she understands that this will be her fate. Imelda is a good girl, she is good in school, kind, and has had a hard life. I told Juster I would put her through her first year. I know PCVs putting multiple kids through secondary school on our small stipend, so I know it is possible. I know there are dozens more like her in my village, but I know her and it will make a difference in her life. Juster called Imelda in and told her that I had agreed to pay for this as long as she got good grades and that she would not have to find a husband. The girl's eyes welled up with tears, she dropped to her knees in front of where I was sitting, clasped her hands together almost like she was praying and said, "Asante sana, Mama Mdogo." (Thank you, young aunt) She looked shocked overwhelmed and happy. I asked if she wanted to go to school and she nodded. I think I have never given a better gift, than the gift of education. It is not really sustainable to be giving these hand outs and not really what we as PCVs are supposed to be doing. We don't really have any money. But I don't know one PCV who hasn't believed in a Tanzanian and given them money, put them through school, put money toward them starting a business, etc. I think it goes against our nature to not share what we have to offer on all levels. And if she is really inspired to learn, than education in itself is sustainable. Selfishly, it was a pretty good feeling to give it. Really, I think it was a gift for both of us- she needs to go to school and I need to find some purpose in Tanzania. It was nice in all of my difficulties to be important to and loved by someone.
Choices
"When it is dark enough, you can see the stars"
-Persian Proverb
November 20, 2008
Everyday I tell myself that life will get easier and then for a minute it does, but that time is always short lived. This week I think I lost the love and support of someone very important to me. As I sit here in my living room I didn't know it was possible to feel more lonely, but apparently it is. If I was home right now I would start watching "Gone With The Wind"- sort of a weird comfort movie, but it is mine anyways. As I sit here in the dark without Clark Gable, I contemplate once again- why am I here? Ah, the great question. Yesterday I didn't get out of bed. Today I did because ants invaded my house and when ants are coming through every crevice of a home, you sort of have to get up. Katherine brought me six bouquets of flowers today, it is like she instinctively knows my life sucks. What am I doing here?
I have this memory of being young and invited two different places with different friends. I remember whining to my mom that "I didn't want to choose" between the parties. I expected that maybe the world would re-arrange itself for me. My mom responded that I had to choose because life's about choices and I will always have to choose something over something else. This is how she disciplines my siblings too- "You have a choice". One is always a good behavior with a positive outcome, the other is to act the way you are acting and suffer the consequences. It always sucked to be given that choice because your fate was in your own hands. Then there is my Dad, who believes in making things happen for yourself. I can remember talking to him about addiction, which runs so rampantly in our family. He said something that has always stuck with me, "I don't believe in addiction, I believe in choices." Because when it comes down to it you are the decision maker for your life. There are so many excuses that one can make for anything. Sometimes I think we need to believe these excuses to protect our fragile selves. I think of all the excuses I could make right now to go home- and I am not sure anyone would blame me. I think of all the excuses I heard from people before I came- "I wanted to join the PC, but... (Fill in the blank)"
Luckily, in the midst of my emotional week my PC magazine came. The year after I finish my service will be PC's 50th Anniversary. Many Americans have served and helped promote a sense of peace and understanding in our global community. Reading about these volunteers of the past , I felt honored to be among this great group of citizens. When I think of my fellow PCVs in TZ as well as RPCVs I know, like my friends Nate and Laura- working tirelessly to help people in Africa after years of PC service, I feel lucky to be included as one of them. I know all of these people who are hopeful, ambitious, intelligent and able to find fun and appreciate the living in difficult places- I feel glad to know them and privileged to be part of a this common goal. In my choice to be here, I am missing things at home, I am changing the course of my life possibly in a dramatic way. I am a quarter of the way through service already if I COS at the earliest possible date, which I might if I get into graduate school. The life path I take may be changed through this, but I can change other people's too.
I was interviewing the primary school's head teacher for my village's needs assessment. I asked what one thing was that he wanted for our village? His response: "I want our village to have a library, so my daughter can learn to read great books." What a great idea- I would like that too. Although in the mean time I get to think about the nightmare of writing a grant to get that built, stocking it with Kiswahili books, and then who manages it? etc. But I haven't entirely written off the idea because I think by definition is hopeful, idealistic, and ambitious which causes one to take on more than they should.
These days I am just trying to distract myself and Africa is a great distraction. Something weird, fascinating, beautiful, funny... is always going on. I remind myself that I live here- how amazing. I live in a small community and uniquely I am choosing it despite the fear for what I might be losing is a hope for what might be gained.
"There is a candle in your heart ready to be kindled,
There is a void in your soul ready to be filled.
You feel it, don't you?"
-Rumi
-Persian Proverb
November 20, 2008
Everyday I tell myself that life will get easier and then for a minute it does, but that time is always short lived. This week I think I lost the love and support of someone very important to me. As I sit here in my living room I didn't know it was possible to feel more lonely, but apparently it is. If I was home right now I would start watching "Gone With The Wind"- sort of a weird comfort movie, but it is mine anyways. As I sit here in the dark without Clark Gable, I contemplate once again- why am I here? Ah, the great question. Yesterday I didn't get out of bed. Today I did because ants invaded my house and when ants are coming through every crevice of a home, you sort of have to get up. Katherine brought me six bouquets of flowers today, it is like she instinctively knows my life sucks. What am I doing here?
I have this memory of being young and invited two different places with different friends. I remember whining to my mom that "I didn't want to choose" between the parties. I expected that maybe the world would re-arrange itself for me. My mom responded that I had to choose because life's about choices and I will always have to choose something over something else. This is how she disciplines my siblings too- "You have a choice". One is always a good behavior with a positive outcome, the other is to act the way you are acting and suffer the consequences. It always sucked to be given that choice because your fate was in your own hands. Then there is my Dad, who believes in making things happen for yourself. I can remember talking to him about addiction, which runs so rampantly in our family. He said something that has always stuck with me, "I don't believe in addiction, I believe in choices." Because when it comes down to it you are the decision maker for your life. There are so many excuses that one can make for anything. Sometimes I think we need to believe these excuses to protect our fragile selves. I think of all the excuses I could make right now to go home- and I am not sure anyone would blame me. I think of all the excuses I heard from people before I came- "I wanted to join the PC, but... (Fill in the blank)"
Luckily, in the midst of my emotional week my PC magazine came. The year after I finish my service will be PC's 50th Anniversary. Many Americans have served and helped promote a sense of peace and understanding in our global community. Reading about these volunteers of the past , I felt honored to be among this great group of citizens. When I think of my fellow PCVs in TZ as well as RPCVs I know, like my friends Nate and Laura- working tirelessly to help people in Africa after years of PC service, I feel lucky to be included as one of them. I know all of these people who are hopeful, ambitious, intelligent and able to find fun and appreciate the living in difficult places- I feel glad to know them and privileged to be part of a this common goal. In my choice to be here, I am missing things at home, I am changing the course of my life possibly in a dramatic way. I am a quarter of the way through service already if I COS at the earliest possible date, which I might if I get into graduate school. The life path I take may be changed through this, but I can change other people's too.
I was interviewing the primary school's head teacher for my village's needs assessment. I asked what one thing was that he wanted for our village? His response: "I want our village to have a library, so my daughter can learn to read great books." What a great idea- I would like that too. Although in the mean time I get to think about the nightmare of writing a grant to get that built, stocking it with Kiswahili books, and then who manages it? etc. But I haven't entirely written off the idea because I think by definition is hopeful, idealistic, and ambitious which causes one to take on more than they should.
These days I am just trying to distract myself and Africa is a great distraction. Something weird, fascinating, beautiful, funny... is always going on. I remind myself that I live here- how amazing. I live in a small community and uniquely I am choosing it despite the fear for what I might be losing is a hope for what might be gained.
"There is a candle in your heart ready to be kindled,
There is a void in your soul ready to be filled.
You feel it, don't you?"
-Rumi
Friday, November 14, 2008
Five Months Without My Tribe
November 12, 2008
Five months in Africa. Am I a different person? No, definitely not. Am I more hardcore than I thought before? Of course. Five months is really no time at all and in months I will probably be laughing at this entry and that I viewed this as an accomplishment at all. But I am almost finished with the part of service that PCVs agree is the most difficult part (first 6-9 months). Five months without running water, with a pit latrine, living with cockroaches and hundreds of spiders- so I might be a slightly tougher person when I get home. All of this makes me miss my sisters- I wish they were here to make disgusted faces with over daily life. I have lived for five months as a minority, which as an Oregonian, you have no idea what this feels like. I have not really understood what was going on for almost half a year, as a language I only barely speak is uttered all around me. And yet, somehow I have formed some real relationships. My host family, Roma (Who called me yesterday to say, "Ninakupenda"- "I like/love you" and told me to come visit his family again soon), Katherine, Juster (Who calls herself my African sister), the rest of the teachers, and many more community members.
Yesterday, half joking but mostly serious, I told the teachers that during my time here I am planning on taking the train to Kigoma, visiting Jane Goodall's Reserve, and then going through Burundi and into the DRC, where I hope to see some Mountain Gorillas. Suddenly, all the 15 teachers I work with were talking loudly at once in Kiswahili. Finally, Jen pulls herself together and yells at me in English, "Brie, there is war there! Those people are crazy. Tanzania is the only safe country in Africa. No, you will not cross any of our lakes. Don't you think that they will not realize that you are part of a Tanzanian tribe? They will think you are American and kill you." I remind her that I am American, but I am touched just they same that they believe now I am really Tanzanian. So, there is acceptance.
A note about tribalism in Tanzania- It is here, very strongly, but not like the DRC or Sudan. One of the first questions Tanzanians ask each other is the question of tribe, but I think it is more to decide if they have to speak Kiswahili or not. I live with the Bena tribe, so they speak Kibena (language of the Bena people) to each other. Not sure how Kiswahili won out as the national language. Juster comes from the Haya tribe, who live way up north on the border with Uganda. Yet she receives no unfair treatment now living with the Bena people. They know she is Haya but have no bad feelings toward her for it. I am not sure how Tanzania gets away with being so accepting, but there is none of that "tribal warfare" that so many Americans feared for me. People have a sort of kinship with their own tribe as they are known for certain things and speak the same language, so they are excited to meet one and other. I am often asked which tribe I am from in America. Since tribes in Tanzania mostly group together regionally, I usually answer this question with "The Portland, Oregon Tribe." It is a good one, we are known for good beer and coffee, Birkenstocks, and tirelessly working to get a Democrat in the White House (Yay us!) When they talk about how it is odd that I don't eat meat, I explain that this is very common for my tribe. So I must say that if I met someone else from my tribe, I would be excited too. But we have much more warfare going on with the Texas tribes than any of the tribes do here. :-)
Five months in Africa. Am I a different person? No, definitely not. Am I more hardcore than I thought before? Of course. Five months is really no time at all and in months I will probably be laughing at this entry and that I viewed this as an accomplishment at all. But I am almost finished with the part of service that PCVs agree is the most difficult part (first 6-9 months). Five months without running water, with a pit latrine, living with cockroaches and hundreds of spiders- so I might be a slightly tougher person when I get home. All of this makes me miss my sisters- I wish they were here to make disgusted faces with over daily life. I have lived for five months as a minority, which as an Oregonian, you have no idea what this feels like. I have not really understood what was going on for almost half a year, as a language I only barely speak is uttered all around me. And yet, somehow I have formed some real relationships. My host family, Roma (Who called me yesterday to say, "Ninakupenda"- "I like/love you" and told me to come visit his family again soon), Katherine, Juster (Who calls herself my African sister), the rest of the teachers, and many more community members.
Yesterday, half joking but mostly serious, I told the teachers that during my time here I am planning on taking the train to Kigoma, visiting Jane Goodall's Reserve, and then going through Burundi and into the DRC, where I hope to see some Mountain Gorillas. Suddenly, all the 15 teachers I work with were talking loudly at once in Kiswahili. Finally, Jen pulls herself together and yells at me in English, "Brie, there is war there! Those people are crazy. Tanzania is the only safe country in Africa. No, you will not cross any of our lakes. Don't you think that they will not realize that you are part of a Tanzanian tribe? They will think you are American and kill you." I remind her that I am American, but I am touched just they same that they believe now I am really Tanzanian. So, there is acceptance.
A note about tribalism in Tanzania- It is here, very strongly, but not like the DRC or Sudan. One of the first questions Tanzanians ask each other is the question of tribe, but I think it is more to decide if they have to speak Kiswahili or not. I live with the Bena tribe, so they speak Kibena (language of the Bena people) to each other. Not sure how Kiswahili won out as the national language. Juster comes from the Haya tribe, who live way up north on the border with Uganda. Yet she receives no unfair treatment now living with the Bena people. They know she is Haya but have no bad feelings toward her for it. I am not sure how Tanzania gets away with being so accepting, but there is none of that "tribal warfare" that so many Americans feared for me. People have a sort of kinship with their own tribe as they are known for certain things and speak the same language, so they are excited to meet one and other. I am often asked which tribe I am from in America. Since tribes in Tanzania mostly group together regionally, I usually answer this question with "The Portland, Oregon Tribe." It is a good one, we are known for good beer and coffee, Birkenstocks, and tirelessly working to get a Democrat in the White House (Yay us!) When they talk about how it is odd that I don't eat meat, I explain that this is very common for my tribe. So I must say that if I met someone else from my tribe, I would be excited too. But we have much more warfare going on with the Texas tribes than any of the tribes do here. :-)
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Pagan Girl Attends Mass
"Tell us if there is was one thing we could do for your village what would it be?"
"With all respect, Sahib, you have little to teach us in strength and toughness. And we don't envy your restless spirits. Perhaps we are happier than you? But we would like our children to go to school. Of all the things you have, learning is what we most desire for our children."
- Conversation between Sir Edmund Hilary and Urkien Sherpa from Schoolhouse in the Clouds
November 9, 2008
My village became a much less scary place today- so why am I crying now? I think out of relief and because my mom was with me so strongly today. Sometimes I feel my dad or one of my sisters, but today was definitely my mom. I saw her in the look of each mamas eyes, in little Mary twirling in her pink dress, in the leaves that coated the walls of the Catholic Church- but I will get to all that later. Today was a roller coaster. I am exhausted, I tried so hard, I was accepted. Every minute I have a new thought, idea, confusion, frustration, happiness. There are minutes I decide I could live here forever- I love the people, the environment, how simple life is. The next minute, if there was a plane right here I would be on it. This is not because anything bad happens, but just because I get frustrated with myself or homesick. Today I forced myself to be brave and resolved to spend my entire day with my village, not just the teachers, but the village. If you haven't spent an entire day with an African village than it is an experience that is terrifying and rewarding. It was fascinating and beautiful and they loved that I did it. My village is remote to say the least. I remind myself that I wanted this. I wanted to be out in the bush and they gave it to me. I wanted to work hard for my relationships and I will have to.
Except Katherine, there is always Katherine who, I think, loves me unconditionally no matter how badly I speak or silly I act. So when she hodied at my door at six thirty am on this Sunday morning, I had to get up and let her in. Now if I show too much interest in her she gets embarrassed and won't talk to me. She is like a cat, ignore her a bit and she will come to you. I think this comes from kids here having little to no positive adult attention. I have made cinnamon rolls the night before- she eats one, I can tell she loves it. I get ready for church and we walk to Juster's home. I am wearing a full on African outfit and my nicest shoes. Juster is in one of her great wigs and a similar outfit. We get to church and it is every stereo-type you might picture of a Catholic Church in the heart of Africa. It is one of the few buildings with a tin roof, the walls are made of concrete and mud, there are windows with no glass. I don't know the last time I was in a church and have probably only been in one a handful of times in my life which is fine with me. I am more likely to believe in "Magenie" than anything that will be taught here. But somehow going to mass in a language you barely understand with a bunch of Tanzanians makes it more appealing. So I go in.
There are basic wooden benches made into pews. At the alter is a technicolor picture of a white- skinned, blue-eyed, Jesus. The dirty walls and ceiling are decorated with scraps of African fabric that look similar to Tibetan prayer flags, as well as leaves and vines that have been woven into garlands. It is already crowded but in typical African fashion, people trickle in late. Women sit on one side, men on the other. There are no little black dresses or suits in this service- the colors are vibrant and the patterns busy, I am maybe one of ten people wearing shoes. Babies are strapped to mamas back and sleep or breast feed through the service. I notice that most of the congregation spend the service turned around staring at me. The young children all sit up in the front. Oh the dancing- if God ever presented himself in a church it would be here in those children. They drum like crazy, people dance in a circle, the children weave in and out- arms, legs, and heads flail independently of bodies. Women whoop and call, men chant and I assume it is all about God and Jesus, yet the means of worship is so African, so Pagan, it is so uncontrolled and against organized religion-I love it. And I wonder, as I have so many times before, how Africans believe in God and why he is there if their lives are so fraught with challenges. It is no wonder Africans were all originally pagan, their continent demands it. I think maybe no where else in the world is good and evil, beauty and horror, dark and light- found so readily in one thing or place. It is a place of extreme contrast.
After church we go to a burial- a child has died. We go to the home, mats decorate the yard, here we will sit to mourn. But first I must go around and greet all of the elders. I shake hands with maybe thirty of the most ancient looking people I have ever seen. I sit and am served ugali, beans and cabbage- as I eat with my hand, I try not to think of everyone's hands I just touched...ewww. At the burial I run into the Mama who sat next to me on the drive into town where I was sick. She goes by "Mama David" which is also Roma's wife's "Name" but different person. Juster knows her- not a big surprise. Mama David goes to Juster's home to fix her hair. Mary comes along too. She is Mama David's youngest child. She is six, wears a pink flowered dress with a broken zipper and is missing her two front teeth. I play a bit with her, she is shy but not really afraid of me. A woman comes over named Angel- who is friendly and offers to teach me Kibena in exchange for English lessons. We talk a bit and once Juster's hair is finished we go to walk to Mama David's home. We go to a part of the village I have never walked through before.
This girl runs up to us and says "Hi" to me. She is wearing a Barak Obama t-shirt, capri jeans, heels, as much jewelry as I am wearing, and has her hair cut short and gelled into spikes. Am I back in America? Her name is Vicky, she is from my village but is studying business in Dar es Salaam. She is marrying a man from Holland next month which is not surprising because she is beautiful, vivacious and charismatic. She walks with us and I learn of of this information. (I walk with her everyday now, although she is just here for a brief visit. I love walking with her, Juster blends in a bit but Vicky warrants almost as many stares as I do. She knows everyone but greets them with a scream or a "Ciao Bella". One day she wore a bright orange sweatsuit to go walking, she always wears pants. I love her energy.) I need to figure out the key to Vicky's success and I don't think it is money. Once I know it I can figure out how to replicate it for Katherine and Mary so that they have the same opportunities.
Anyways, I walk through the village with my new best friends, we stop at houses and greet people who then invite us in for rice, beans, chai, soda or some combo of all. I eat maybe a dozen meals- great, so much for the weight loss... Finally we reach Mama David's home. She invites me to come whenever I want, so I am glad to finally have a village Mama friend. I met so many people today, shook so many hands. My Villagers are curious and shy around me but I think that they will come around. I will have to put in a lot of time getting them used to me- but I think the pay off of having them as life long friends will be tremendous.
"With all respect, Sahib, you have little to teach us in strength and toughness. And we don't envy your restless spirits. Perhaps we are happier than you? But we would like our children to go to school. Of all the things you have, learning is what we most desire for our children."
- Conversation between Sir Edmund Hilary and Urkien Sherpa from Schoolhouse in the Clouds
November 9, 2008
My village became a much less scary place today- so why am I crying now? I think out of relief and because my mom was with me so strongly today. Sometimes I feel my dad or one of my sisters, but today was definitely my mom. I saw her in the look of each mamas eyes, in little Mary twirling in her pink dress, in the leaves that coated the walls of the Catholic Church- but I will get to all that later. Today was a roller coaster. I am exhausted, I tried so hard, I was accepted. Every minute I have a new thought, idea, confusion, frustration, happiness. There are minutes I decide I could live here forever- I love the people, the environment, how simple life is. The next minute, if there was a plane right here I would be on it. This is not because anything bad happens, but just because I get frustrated with myself or homesick. Today I forced myself to be brave and resolved to spend my entire day with my village, not just the teachers, but the village. If you haven't spent an entire day with an African village than it is an experience that is terrifying and rewarding. It was fascinating and beautiful and they loved that I did it. My village is remote to say the least. I remind myself that I wanted this. I wanted to be out in the bush and they gave it to me. I wanted to work hard for my relationships and I will have to.
Except Katherine, there is always Katherine who, I think, loves me unconditionally no matter how badly I speak or silly I act. So when she hodied at my door at six thirty am on this Sunday morning, I had to get up and let her in. Now if I show too much interest in her she gets embarrassed and won't talk to me. She is like a cat, ignore her a bit and she will come to you. I think this comes from kids here having little to no positive adult attention. I have made cinnamon rolls the night before- she eats one, I can tell she loves it. I get ready for church and we walk to Juster's home. I am wearing a full on African outfit and my nicest shoes. Juster is in one of her great wigs and a similar outfit. We get to church and it is every stereo-type you might picture of a Catholic Church in the heart of Africa. It is one of the few buildings with a tin roof, the walls are made of concrete and mud, there are windows with no glass. I don't know the last time I was in a church and have probably only been in one a handful of times in my life which is fine with me. I am more likely to believe in "Magenie" than anything that will be taught here. But somehow going to mass in a language you barely understand with a bunch of Tanzanians makes it more appealing. So I go in.
There are basic wooden benches made into pews. At the alter is a technicolor picture of a white- skinned, blue-eyed, Jesus. The dirty walls and ceiling are decorated with scraps of African fabric that look similar to Tibetan prayer flags, as well as leaves and vines that have been woven into garlands. It is already crowded but in typical African fashion, people trickle in late. Women sit on one side, men on the other. There are no little black dresses or suits in this service- the colors are vibrant and the patterns busy, I am maybe one of ten people wearing shoes. Babies are strapped to mamas back and sleep or breast feed through the service. I notice that most of the congregation spend the service turned around staring at me. The young children all sit up in the front. Oh the dancing- if God ever presented himself in a church it would be here in those children. They drum like crazy, people dance in a circle, the children weave in and out- arms, legs, and heads flail independently of bodies. Women whoop and call, men chant and I assume it is all about God and Jesus, yet the means of worship is so African, so Pagan, it is so uncontrolled and against organized religion-I love it. And I wonder, as I have so many times before, how Africans believe in God and why he is there if their lives are so fraught with challenges. It is no wonder Africans were all originally pagan, their continent demands it. I think maybe no where else in the world is good and evil, beauty and horror, dark and light- found so readily in one thing or place. It is a place of extreme contrast.
After church we go to a burial- a child has died. We go to the home, mats decorate the yard, here we will sit to mourn. But first I must go around and greet all of the elders. I shake hands with maybe thirty of the most ancient looking people I have ever seen. I sit and am served ugali, beans and cabbage- as I eat with my hand, I try not to think of everyone's hands I just touched...ewww. At the burial I run into the Mama who sat next to me on the drive into town where I was sick. She goes by "Mama David" which is also Roma's wife's "Name" but different person. Juster knows her- not a big surprise. Mama David goes to Juster's home to fix her hair. Mary comes along too. She is Mama David's youngest child. She is six, wears a pink flowered dress with a broken zipper and is missing her two front teeth. I play a bit with her, she is shy but not really afraid of me. A woman comes over named Angel- who is friendly and offers to teach me Kibena in exchange for English lessons. We talk a bit and once Juster's hair is finished we go to walk to Mama David's home. We go to a part of the village I have never walked through before.
This girl runs up to us and says "Hi" to me. She is wearing a Barak Obama t-shirt, capri jeans, heels, as much jewelry as I am wearing, and has her hair cut short and gelled into spikes. Am I back in America? Her name is Vicky, she is from my village but is studying business in Dar es Salaam. She is marrying a man from Holland next month which is not surprising because she is beautiful, vivacious and charismatic. She walks with us and I learn of of this information. (I walk with her everyday now, although she is just here for a brief visit. I love walking with her, Juster blends in a bit but Vicky warrants almost as many stares as I do. She knows everyone but greets them with a scream or a "Ciao Bella". One day she wore a bright orange sweatsuit to go walking, she always wears pants. I love her energy.) I need to figure out the key to Vicky's success and I don't think it is money. Once I know it I can figure out how to replicate it for Katherine and Mary so that they have the same opportunities.
Anyways, I walk through the village with my new best friends, we stop at houses and greet people who then invite us in for rice, beans, chai, soda or some combo of all. I eat maybe a dozen meals- great, so much for the weight loss... Finally we reach Mama David's home. She invites me to come whenever I want, so I am glad to finally have a village Mama friend. I met so many people today, shook so many hands. My Villagers are curious and shy around me but I think that they will come around. I will have to put in a lot of time getting them used to me- but I think the pay off of having them as life long friends will be tremendous.
Going
"I get the urge for going but I never seem to go.
I get the urge for going when the meadow grass is turning brown
and summertime is falling down and winter's closing in."
- Joni Mitchell
November 6, 2008
You have some sort of weird guilt or something you are trying to prove when you are an American living in Africa, or at least when you are a PCV. I think this is what has led me to live for two months with only one fork-just to see if I can. When you come from the land of plenty you are used to every comfort, and so of course living with one fork is not a sustainable way to live when you know what's out there. Two years of living like this would cause you to be unhappy- but in the beginning it is something you need to grapple with. PCVs who have been here for two years treat themselves. They spend more money at the nice shop on things like olive oil because they know just how much better it makes life. And I wonder- is this why they are happy living here for so long? Because there is some semblance of American life in Africa? Since I have only been here for five months, I am still practicing going without which I think is what led me to give up my front seat position in our village pick-up truck on the way home from town. I know I have complained a lot about the transport here- but there is more.
I gave up my seat under the condition that a mother with a baby sit there, not some man. Our village car is an old green toyota pick-up. In the back is everything my village will need for a time- sodas, chickens, boxes of sugar and flour, tiles, veggies and then the villagers who have come to town sit on top of all of it. The bed is covered with some canvas that is attached to some iron rods that come from the cab ceiling. I climb into the back, along with 15 other villagers- this is not including three babies and two toddlers. It is already packed with luggage but I find some room on top of some metal pipes and curl into a tight ball while trying to keep my skirt over my knees so as not to be "indecent." I am uncomfortable immediately. I have to hold myself up with one foot at a weird angle to keep my head from bumping into the guy's crotch who is standing over me- and I am probably in the mostly comfortable position of anyone. It is bumpy back there and I bounce around on the pipes and think of lazy-boy chairs because it has to be mind over matter to not think about all the bruises I am getting. In a way, though, I welcome it- "Bring it", I think, "I can handle this and I deserve this, this is how my village travels and I am a villager." After the first hour of it though, I have to convince myself to not call "Uncle" and have them put me in the front again. I look around at my villagers faces, they all must be horribly uncomfortable, yet none of them is complaining. On their faces is a look of total acceptance- "This is how we get to town, might be uncomfortable, but this is what we know."
I still can't believe no one complains. When PCVs travel together we complain loudly in English. That is a great thing about Tanzania- even though some people speak English, they speak more of a British version, they don't know our slang and they don't understand sarcasm- making American English entirely confusing to them. If you speak quickly enough running your words together, even the best English speakers don't get it. I have become good at this and don't feel bad about it because they talk about us all the time in Kiswahili. So it makes us PCVs feel better to put it out there-"Could they get anymore people on this bus?" or "Yeah, stop again for no apparent reason." But this time I am travelling alone so I complain loudly in English in my head. I space out for a bit- thinking about this blog entry and how everyone who reads it will also have to listen to my English complaining, when there is a loud noise, things get bumpier, my head finally hits the guy's crotch and my patient TZ companions start yelling. The truck stops and people start jumping out- so I jump out too. We have blown a tire, but this has never happened to me in America, so it takes a minute for me to realize what is up. Now I am on the side of the road, there is no villages around, so I wonder what will happen next. I know in everyone's life they don't know what will happen next, but it is more true here. It is weird to have such little control over anything. So I watch with interest where I will end up, who will help me, what will I eat, when will I get there, etc every day of my life here.
A big semi type vehicle comes along eventually. A man gets out of the cab in a clean khaki outfit and a hat-he has eyelashes that curl past his eyebrows and white straight teeth. He looks me up and down and then says in great English- "What is someone like you doing somewhere like here?" I say, "I am an American." As if that answers his question-I am an American we do what we want. But really I am surprised at the way he is speaking to me when he says, "I know". Americans tend to be fairly easy to pick out of a crowd of Europeans, haven't exactly figured out why yet... So I say, "I live here". He tells my villagers to start putting the luggage in the back of his truck- he will take us home, but he tells them in Kiswahili, "She will sit in front" motioning toward me. My village agrees and I think "thanks guys for offering me up, what does this guy want?" But he has clean fingernails and a nice smile and sometimes that is all you can go on. So I climb into the cab to a captain's seat (I conjured up a lazy-boy!) David, the driver, says he rarely gets to speak English and wants me to tell him all about America. I tell him things and finally he says, "It sounds like you have a lot of things, but do you think you are any happier?" I say, "No, Tanzanians seem very happy and content." He says "Yes, you are searching for something here, what is it?" I really can't answer him still.
I get the urge for going when the meadow grass is turning brown
and summertime is falling down and winter's closing in."
- Joni Mitchell
November 6, 2008
You have some sort of weird guilt or something you are trying to prove when you are an American living in Africa, or at least when you are a PCV. I think this is what has led me to live for two months with only one fork-just to see if I can. When you come from the land of plenty you are used to every comfort, and so of course living with one fork is not a sustainable way to live when you know what's out there. Two years of living like this would cause you to be unhappy- but in the beginning it is something you need to grapple with. PCVs who have been here for two years treat themselves. They spend more money at the nice shop on things like olive oil because they know just how much better it makes life. And I wonder- is this why they are happy living here for so long? Because there is some semblance of American life in Africa? Since I have only been here for five months, I am still practicing going without which I think is what led me to give up my front seat position in our village pick-up truck on the way home from town. I know I have complained a lot about the transport here- but there is more.
I gave up my seat under the condition that a mother with a baby sit there, not some man. Our village car is an old green toyota pick-up. In the back is everything my village will need for a time- sodas, chickens, boxes of sugar and flour, tiles, veggies and then the villagers who have come to town sit on top of all of it. The bed is covered with some canvas that is attached to some iron rods that come from the cab ceiling. I climb into the back, along with 15 other villagers- this is not including three babies and two toddlers. It is already packed with luggage but I find some room on top of some metal pipes and curl into a tight ball while trying to keep my skirt over my knees so as not to be "indecent." I am uncomfortable immediately. I have to hold myself up with one foot at a weird angle to keep my head from bumping into the guy's crotch who is standing over me- and I am probably in the mostly comfortable position of anyone. It is bumpy back there and I bounce around on the pipes and think of lazy-boy chairs because it has to be mind over matter to not think about all the bruises I am getting. In a way, though, I welcome it- "Bring it", I think, "I can handle this and I deserve this, this is how my village travels and I am a villager." After the first hour of it though, I have to convince myself to not call "Uncle" and have them put me in the front again. I look around at my villagers faces, they all must be horribly uncomfortable, yet none of them is complaining. On their faces is a look of total acceptance- "This is how we get to town, might be uncomfortable, but this is what we know."
I still can't believe no one complains. When PCVs travel together we complain loudly in English. That is a great thing about Tanzania- even though some people speak English, they speak more of a British version, they don't know our slang and they don't understand sarcasm- making American English entirely confusing to them. If you speak quickly enough running your words together, even the best English speakers don't get it. I have become good at this and don't feel bad about it because they talk about us all the time in Kiswahili. So it makes us PCVs feel better to put it out there-"Could they get anymore people on this bus?" or "Yeah, stop again for no apparent reason." But this time I am travelling alone so I complain loudly in English in my head. I space out for a bit- thinking about this blog entry and how everyone who reads it will also have to listen to my English complaining, when there is a loud noise, things get bumpier, my head finally hits the guy's crotch and my patient TZ companions start yelling. The truck stops and people start jumping out- so I jump out too. We have blown a tire, but this has never happened to me in America, so it takes a minute for me to realize what is up. Now I am on the side of the road, there is no villages around, so I wonder what will happen next. I know in everyone's life they don't know what will happen next, but it is more true here. It is weird to have such little control over anything. So I watch with interest where I will end up, who will help me, what will I eat, when will I get there, etc every day of my life here.
A big semi type vehicle comes along eventually. A man gets out of the cab in a clean khaki outfit and a hat-he has eyelashes that curl past his eyebrows and white straight teeth. He looks me up and down and then says in great English- "What is someone like you doing somewhere like here?" I say, "I am an American." As if that answers his question-I am an American we do what we want. But really I am surprised at the way he is speaking to me when he says, "I know". Americans tend to be fairly easy to pick out of a crowd of Europeans, haven't exactly figured out why yet... So I say, "I live here". He tells my villagers to start putting the luggage in the back of his truck- he will take us home, but he tells them in Kiswahili, "She will sit in front" motioning toward me. My village agrees and I think "thanks guys for offering me up, what does this guy want?" But he has clean fingernails and a nice smile and sometimes that is all you can go on. So I climb into the cab to a captain's seat (I conjured up a lazy-boy!) David, the driver, says he rarely gets to speak English and wants me to tell him all about America. I tell him things and finally he says, "It sounds like you have a lot of things, but do you think you are any happier?" I say, "No, Tanzanians seem very happy and content." He says "Yes, you are searching for something here, what is it?" I really can't answer him still.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Obama Mania
November 4/5, 2008
Sorry if there are mistakes in this- I haven't slept for almost 48 hours... and it paid off! Finally. Today I have never been prouder to be an American, which is a weird feeling when you have not felt proud for almost a decade. Especially an American in Africa. Let me paint the mood for you here: Africans are beyond excited. They yell "Obama- Yeah" as we, wazungu, walk passed. There are songs all over the radio in Kiswahili and English singing his praises. Tanzanians are comparing him to Nelson Mandela. Every Tanzanian wants to talk about the election. And we finally get a good excuse to be those crazy Americans that they knew we were- jumping up and down, yelling, smiling, singing, etc.
Now what I did for the election. I came to town. Ran into my friends, Benja and Gregor, who are part of the group going to Dar to close up service in a week, they were on their way to another volunteers site to have an election party and invited me to come along. I figured why not as this is my last week to hang out with those guys. We took a coaster to Craig's site which is super nice and only a half an hour from Njombe. His house has running water and electricity and his school has Internet and cable. This is practically unheard of for a PCV site. First off we watched the new "Simpsons" on his laptop projected onto his wall which was poking fun at the election, then we watched Obama's most recent "info-mercial" for lack of a better word. We talked politics and then laid down for an hour only to get back up at one AM to start making pizzas for our election party. We had to start early because our plan was to make four pizzas, chocolate chip cookies and a victory cake, which was complete with Democrat blue frosting and Obama's name and 2008 scrawled across in white frosting. To make all of this over a charcoal jiko takes the skills of four people, three of which have been in the country for two years.
Then we began to watch as the states came in. Ah, Oregon, how I love thee. Thank you Portland and Eugene. The beauty of all of that blue on the West Coast and New England, of course was to be expected. But the blue around the Great Lakes, Colorado and most notably Florida (who apparently has come to their senses after ruining years for the rest of us) was more surprising. It can only be said that "Obama is a rock star". Finally proving to the world that the United States are ready to cooperate with the rest of the world- More love, less war. He might have the toughest job in history, but I have hope.
Unfortunately, I have not yet seen his acceptance speech, which I assume was very moving. I had to walk to catch a coaster to go back to town for a meeting. I lamented for a minute not being able to see this moment in history. But I realize that everyone in America will have this memory of watching this speech- most of them will have the same memory, which will be nice. My memory is different but no less profound. Walking along a dusty dirt road, greeting bibis and young children doing chores outside thatched roof huts- I am in East Africa. What better place to be for a moment when Americans have decided to give hope to people all over the world.
Sorry if there are mistakes in this- I haven't slept for almost 48 hours... and it paid off! Finally. Today I have never been prouder to be an American, which is a weird feeling when you have not felt proud for almost a decade. Especially an American in Africa. Let me paint the mood for you here: Africans are beyond excited. They yell "Obama- Yeah" as we, wazungu, walk passed. There are songs all over the radio in Kiswahili and English singing his praises. Tanzanians are comparing him to Nelson Mandela. Every Tanzanian wants to talk about the election. And we finally get a good excuse to be those crazy Americans that they knew we were- jumping up and down, yelling, smiling, singing, etc.
Now what I did for the election. I came to town. Ran into my friends, Benja and Gregor, who are part of the group going to Dar to close up service in a week, they were on their way to another volunteers site to have an election party and invited me to come along. I figured why not as this is my last week to hang out with those guys. We took a coaster to Craig's site which is super nice and only a half an hour from Njombe. His house has running water and electricity and his school has Internet and cable. This is practically unheard of for a PCV site. First off we watched the new "Simpsons" on his laptop projected onto his wall which was poking fun at the election, then we watched Obama's most recent "info-mercial" for lack of a better word. We talked politics and then laid down for an hour only to get back up at one AM to start making pizzas for our election party. We had to start early because our plan was to make four pizzas, chocolate chip cookies and a victory cake, which was complete with Democrat blue frosting and Obama's name and 2008 scrawled across in white frosting. To make all of this over a charcoal jiko takes the skills of four people, three of which have been in the country for two years.
Then we began to watch as the states came in. Ah, Oregon, how I love thee. Thank you Portland and Eugene. The beauty of all of that blue on the West Coast and New England, of course was to be expected. But the blue around the Great Lakes, Colorado and most notably Florida (who apparently has come to their senses after ruining years for the rest of us) was more surprising. It can only be said that "Obama is a rock star". Finally proving to the world that the United States are ready to cooperate with the rest of the world- More love, less war. He might have the toughest job in history, but I have hope.
Unfortunately, I have not yet seen his acceptance speech, which I assume was very moving. I had to walk to catch a coaster to go back to town for a meeting. I lamented for a minute not being able to see this moment in history. But I realize that everyone in America will have this memory of watching this speech- most of them will have the same memory, which will be nice. My memory is different but no less profound. Walking along a dusty dirt road, greeting bibis and young children doing chores outside thatched roof huts- I am in East Africa. What better place to be for a moment when Americans have decided to give hope to people all over the world.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Happy (I Hope) Election Day!
November 4, 2008
The day I have been waiting for since eight years ago. Some people I know were once registered Republican, but I have always known who I was. In town to stay up all night and watch the outcome of this. The Tanzanians are pumped, rallying, of course, behind Obama. They all know it is election day, they are all eager to talk to us. I listened to BBC Radio Africa yesterday and they were interviewing people all over the continent. These people spoke of hope with an Obama presidency. The one common denominator is they all said, "I think he will help Africa, he will be good for the world." Peace Corps Volunteers are excited because Obama would most likely mean less restrictions on PEPFAR, so we might be able to do less abstinence teaching and actually produce results in decreasing AIDS around this country. It is funny to me that Africans with little to no media know what America needs better than half of America. Oh- we are eager for change on this side of the world as well.
The day I have been waiting for since eight years ago. Some people I know were once registered Republican, but I have always known who I was. In town to stay up all night and watch the outcome of this. The Tanzanians are pumped, rallying, of course, behind Obama. They all know it is election day, they are all eager to talk to us. I listened to BBC Radio Africa yesterday and they were interviewing people all over the continent. These people spoke of hope with an Obama presidency. The one common denominator is they all said, "I think he will help Africa, he will be good for the world." Peace Corps Volunteers are excited because Obama would most likely mean less restrictions on PEPFAR, so we might be able to do less abstinence teaching and actually produce results in decreasing AIDS around this country. It is funny to me that Africans with little to no media know what America needs better than half of America. Oh- we are eager for change on this side of the world as well.
Halloween
October 31, 2008
Does anything go according to plan here? I haven't been here long enough to know, but in my experience so far the answer is "no". The Peace Corps lets me know only a few days in advance that they are planning to visit my site at a time when I was hoping to be returning from a big Halloween party with friends in town. Great- now looks like Halloween alone at site. But I can't yet handle a holiday alone, as I am still a "Peace Corps Baby", so I decide to go to Josh's village which is closer to home. He was not planning on going to town, as he is finishing up his last few weeks as a Peace Corps Volunteer. This is something I have been trying to ignore and was fairly easy until he took out his suitcase to start to figure out what to put into it. Up until now it has been easy to pretend that he will be here for my entire service and just happens to be much better at Kiswahili and his job than I am. Then I remember that I have been here for five months and he has been here for twenty-seven. Having my site-mate leave this month is going to be a challenge that I am not quite ready to face yet, but it is probably time that I stopped being fully dependant on another PCV to give me emotional support over text message to get me through everyday. However, not ready to be cut off yet, so I decide to walk/hitch to his house. His site will be getting replaced with a new volunteer this December, but it won't be the same and then I will be the one who is supposed to know what is going on... But my bike is at his site and so I need to go there anyway, and a disappointing Halloween is as good a time as any.
I walk 9K to the main village between ours and then wait to hitch a ride on his public transport that is returning from Njombe. I have decided to write about this ride because transport takes up a lot of time in Tanzania and I am not sure that I have accurately portrayed what it is like. The dala dala (picture: a small bus/VW bus, now make it a lot less nice than the one you are picturing- that might be close. I will take a picture of one at some point.) is supposed to arrive around 4 but gets there at 5.30 instead- typical. I get on- it is packed, maybe thirty people some standing, squatting, lap sitting, laying, etc. The ride is so typical Tanzania- there is a child I don't know in my lap, a chicken sitting next to me, bright fabric on every woman's head, the smell of Tanzanian soap (Sort of indescribable), hair oil, kerosene, and too many bodies packed together wafts in the air. By the way- suddenly Njombe region is hot- not hot by African standards, but hot. Then it pours rain and cools down slightly. We bump and bounce over potholes as the radio blasts bongo flavor and the driver honks the horn incessantly to get kids, dogs, bikes and chickens to move out of the way. I hold on for dear life along with everyone else and try to figure out how my arms can form a seat belt for this child. Luckily, I was not given a newborn to care for like I was once on our village car- It is easier to be a seat belt for a 7 year old then a car seat for a newborn. Transport is the most dangerous part of living in Tanzania. It is not coincidence that almost all vehicles have "Mungu Atubariki" (God Bless Us) painted on the back. Let's just say- we need it. Then the kid who takes the money/operates the door, etc. asks me where I am going and I tell him the secondary school and he apologizes and tells me that since I am the only going that far, they will not be and will drop me before that. But he tells me I can pay nothing for the ride. I agree and figure I will walk the rest of the way as it is only about a half an hour walk from there. However, my feet are already bleeding from the 9 k I have walked previously (Oh, my feet- they hate life here) and I am feeling Kiswahili confident at that moment and I wonder how much money it will take to get my way. Bribing with money is the best way to get what you want I have found. The police are so corrupt here that this is the method they fully operate on. So I start to bargain a bit. Then we come around a corner and see the other dala stopped in the road. A villagers owns two and makes a living transporting people and goods on them from Njombe to the bush and back. We stop- they tell us to get out- I think "Great- it is broken down and now we are going to wait while they fix it." But luckily I am wrong, and they just funnel some gas into it. Then they re-arrange us and all the luggage and tell me to switch cars. I see no reason for this, but play my role culturally as a woman in Tanzania and do what I am told. The driver of the new vehicle is a friendly man who is taking his sweet time going anywhere. He stops and talks to people, he drops things off, picks things up- I think impatiently that I could be walking faster. Then I remember what I can learn here from these people: Surrender. I am not in a hurry- I live in Africa. One surprising thing about Tanzanians is there amazing sense of humor. Everything is funny and they don't get angry, seriously, it is sort of weird. There is so much here that an American could find to be outraged about, but to them it is all "Hamnashida" (No Problems) or "Usijali" (Don't Mind). I tried to explain once to Juster our "time is money" saying- she laughed. "Brie, We have no such saying in Africa. Time is time, money is money. We have plenty of time, just not enough money." It starts to get dark. He asks where I am going- I tell him the secondary school. He asks if I am going to visit Doctor Joshua (Josh has a PhD, so this is what they call him and of course he knows him as this has been Josh's transportation for two years and we might be the only white people this guy knows). The driver changes entirely, suddenly it is an emergency that I get to his site. He yells out his window that he will stop for people on the way back but now he must get me to the secondary school. He "haraka harakas" (Faster) people out of the car. He drives like a bat out of hell and I smile to myself because sometimes it just cracks me up to be here. The whole dala is telling me to "Salimia" (greet) Josh and I wonder what my village will be like once they are trained to deal with Brie after two years.
I have a great Halloween. We debate going to "Omba pipi" (Beg for candy) from Josh's neighbors and we try to explain Halloween to one of his favorite students, Deus. (We stayed at Deus' parents house when we took our really long walk/camp trip a few weeks back). Deus laughs and we can tell is thinking "Crazy Americans". We make Carmel popcorn without any Carmel- so it is really buttery sugary good-ness. Drink some beer and use my laptop and his solar panel to watch "Flight of the Concords". True resourcefulness in PC would be any time you are drinking Safari Lager, eating popcorn and watching a movie in a village.
I was able to look through Josh's things for what I want to keep, which is the one benefit of him leaving. I am inheriting a ton of stuff, but am most excited about sheets, a french press, a pressure cooker, garden seeds and an old green sweatshirt. We also went and watched a speech/debate at his school, where one boy spoke about Obama. The point is to get them to practice speaking English, since that is the language secondary school is taught in. The debate was on mining, but past topics included: "Explain why women are the cause of poverty"- wish I could have seen that one... The headmaster explained to the students that I would be giving out the prizes because I was the "honored guest"- which cracked Josh and I up because he didn't even know I was coming. So I handed out the prizes- a bar of soap and some pencils. There is so much to appreciate here in the differences. I live in a country where there is no schedule, no good transport, no Halloween, but Carmel corn can be made, modern conveniences are a pressure cooker and are valued, and everywhere I go I am an honored guest. What's not to love?
Does anything go according to plan here? I haven't been here long enough to know, but in my experience so far the answer is "no". The Peace Corps lets me know only a few days in advance that they are planning to visit my site at a time when I was hoping to be returning from a big Halloween party with friends in town. Great- now looks like Halloween alone at site. But I can't yet handle a holiday alone, as I am still a "Peace Corps Baby", so I decide to go to Josh's village which is closer to home. He was not planning on going to town, as he is finishing up his last few weeks as a Peace Corps Volunteer. This is something I have been trying to ignore and was fairly easy until he took out his suitcase to start to figure out what to put into it. Up until now it has been easy to pretend that he will be here for my entire service and just happens to be much better at Kiswahili and his job than I am. Then I remember that I have been here for five months and he has been here for twenty-seven. Having my site-mate leave this month is going to be a challenge that I am not quite ready to face yet, but it is probably time that I stopped being fully dependant on another PCV to give me emotional support over text message to get me through everyday. However, not ready to be cut off yet, so I decide to walk/hitch to his house. His site will be getting replaced with a new volunteer this December, but it won't be the same and then I will be the one who is supposed to know what is going on... But my bike is at his site and so I need to go there anyway, and a disappointing Halloween is as good a time as any.
I walk 9K to the main village between ours and then wait to hitch a ride on his public transport that is returning from Njombe. I have decided to write about this ride because transport takes up a lot of time in Tanzania and I am not sure that I have accurately portrayed what it is like. The dala dala (picture: a small bus/VW bus, now make it a lot less nice than the one you are picturing- that might be close. I will take a picture of one at some point.) is supposed to arrive around 4 but gets there at 5.30 instead- typical. I get on- it is packed, maybe thirty people some standing, squatting, lap sitting, laying, etc. The ride is so typical Tanzania- there is a child I don't know in my lap, a chicken sitting next to me, bright fabric on every woman's head, the smell of Tanzanian soap (Sort of indescribable), hair oil, kerosene, and too many bodies packed together wafts in the air. By the way- suddenly Njombe region is hot- not hot by African standards, but hot. Then it pours rain and cools down slightly. We bump and bounce over potholes as the radio blasts bongo flavor and the driver honks the horn incessantly to get kids, dogs, bikes and chickens to move out of the way. I hold on for dear life along with everyone else and try to figure out how my arms can form a seat belt for this child. Luckily, I was not given a newborn to care for like I was once on our village car- It is easier to be a seat belt for a 7 year old then a car seat for a newborn. Transport is the most dangerous part of living in Tanzania. It is not coincidence that almost all vehicles have "Mungu Atubariki" (God Bless Us) painted on the back. Let's just say- we need it. Then the kid who takes the money/operates the door, etc. asks me where I am going and I tell him the secondary school and he apologizes and tells me that since I am the only going that far, they will not be and will drop me before that. But he tells me I can pay nothing for the ride. I agree and figure I will walk the rest of the way as it is only about a half an hour walk from there. However, my feet are already bleeding from the 9 k I have walked previously (Oh, my feet- they hate life here) and I am feeling Kiswahili confident at that moment and I wonder how much money it will take to get my way. Bribing with money is the best way to get what you want I have found. The police are so corrupt here that this is the method they fully operate on. So I start to bargain a bit. Then we come around a corner and see the other dala stopped in the road. A villagers owns two and makes a living transporting people and goods on them from Njombe to the bush and back. We stop- they tell us to get out- I think "Great- it is broken down and now we are going to wait while they fix it." But luckily I am wrong, and they just funnel some gas into it. Then they re-arrange us and all the luggage and tell me to switch cars. I see no reason for this, but play my role culturally as a woman in Tanzania and do what I am told. The driver of the new vehicle is a friendly man who is taking his sweet time going anywhere. He stops and talks to people, he drops things off, picks things up- I think impatiently that I could be walking faster. Then I remember what I can learn here from these people: Surrender. I am not in a hurry- I live in Africa. One surprising thing about Tanzanians is there amazing sense of humor. Everything is funny and they don't get angry, seriously, it is sort of weird. There is so much here that an American could find to be outraged about, but to them it is all "Hamnashida" (No Problems) or "Usijali" (Don't Mind). I tried to explain once to Juster our "time is money" saying- she laughed. "Brie, We have no such saying in Africa. Time is time, money is money. We have plenty of time, just not enough money." It starts to get dark. He asks where I am going- I tell him the secondary school. He asks if I am going to visit Doctor Joshua (Josh has a PhD, so this is what they call him and of course he knows him as this has been Josh's transportation for two years and we might be the only white people this guy knows). The driver changes entirely, suddenly it is an emergency that I get to his site. He yells out his window that he will stop for people on the way back but now he must get me to the secondary school. He "haraka harakas" (Faster) people out of the car. He drives like a bat out of hell and I smile to myself because sometimes it just cracks me up to be here. The whole dala is telling me to "Salimia" (greet) Josh and I wonder what my village will be like once they are trained to deal with Brie after two years.
I have a great Halloween. We debate going to "Omba pipi" (Beg for candy) from Josh's neighbors and we try to explain Halloween to one of his favorite students, Deus. (We stayed at Deus' parents house when we took our really long walk/camp trip a few weeks back). Deus laughs and we can tell is thinking "Crazy Americans". We make Carmel popcorn without any Carmel- so it is really buttery sugary good-ness. Drink some beer and use my laptop and his solar panel to watch "Flight of the Concords". True resourcefulness in PC would be any time you are drinking Safari Lager, eating popcorn and watching a movie in a village.
I was able to look through Josh's things for what I want to keep, which is the one benefit of him leaving. I am inheriting a ton of stuff, but am most excited about sheets, a french press, a pressure cooker, garden seeds and an old green sweatshirt. We also went and watched a speech/debate at his school, where one boy spoke about Obama. The point is to get them to practice speaking English, since that is the language secondary school is taught in. The debate was on mining, but past topics included: "Explain why women are the cause of poverty"- wish I could have seen that one... The headmaster explained to the students that I would be giving out the prizes because I was the "honored guest"- which cracked Josh and I up because he didn't even know I was coming. So I handed out the prizes- a bar of soap and some pencils. There is so much to appreciate here in the differences. I live in a country where there is no schedule, no good transport, no Halloween, but Carmel corn can be made, modern conveniences are a pressure cooker and are valued, and everywhere I go I am an honored guest. What's not to love?
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Tears in Tanzania
October 23, 2008
I don't cry very much here. I try to distract myself from anything sad. But sometimes you can't distract anymore. Today I taught 20 minutes of an English class at school. It was to the equivalent of 2nd graders. I counted them as the other teacher was finishing up-there was 67 of them aged 7-9. I was told 16 of them were absent. Can you imagine? In the states that would be more than half the class. I guess there are usually that many working in the farm or sick. The month before I arrived in village I was told that 12 students here died of Typhoid. Anyways, I am a horrible teacher. But the kids watched me with a lot of attention and I have been told by other PCVs that even if I am a bad teacher just having a warm body in the classroom paying attention to them is more than they usually have. So it went alright.
I am a bit sick- dizzy, headache, fever. Shouldn't be anything too serious though. There is no way I have malaria so I will be fine. But compounded with the teaching, with a staff meeting where I had no idea what was going on and watching kids get hit more- some across the face... When I went to Juster's home for chai the frustration boiled over. In me, frustration manifests in tears. I have been told by other PCVs to not cry in front of Tanzanians. They don't cry and don't know how to react when you do. (Which tells you how many PCVs have done it. )Juster handled it very well. Mostly, I expressed frustration that I am not speaking well enough to get to know people. She reminded me how far I have come, how little time I have really been here, how much I do understand. I told her that I was fearful that the village would think I didn't want to talk to them. She responded the way my mom would-" Brie, you can only be responsible for what you do. You are trying very hard. They need to try too. You are doing nothing wrong." I still felt discouraged. It is funny when things are going poorly here something always happens to entirely restore my faith in being here.
This time it occurred on the way to town. They always put me in the front of the truck in stead of in the bed with everyone else. The car leaves for town at 4 am- so it is cold and dark. I usually am squished in the cab with a man of high rank in our village and the driver. Then some child is placed on my lap. I can't imagine putting your kid on a strangers lap in the states, but here it is the norm. So I have held babies, but most of the time I hold a sick kid. And I wonder what does this kid have? And I feel relieved that I have been vaccinated for everything as you cannot fear sickness here, you can't really avoid it. This ride, however, there was no child on my lap and I sat next to a Mama who I did not know. Juster put me in the cab and told them I was feeling sick. This mama was beautiful, she spoke to me in Kibena and I told her I didn't understand, so she sang to me in Kibena instead. I apologized for not speaking Kibena or Kiswahili very well. She repeated over and over, "Utaelewa, Utaelewa" (You will understand.) It was so sweet and so patient. She held me hand, let me sleep on her shoulder and petted my hair. I felt like a child, but it felt nice to have love. When we got to Njombe, I was feeling better she made me promise I would come visit her. She makes clothes and said she wanted to make me a skirt and feed me. I am glad to have another friend.
I don't cry very much here. I try to distract myself from anything sad. But sometimes you can't distract anymore. Today I taught 20 minutes of an English class at school. It was to the equivalent of 2nd graders. I counted them as the other teacher was finishing up-there was 67 of them aged 7-9. I was told 16 of them were absent. Can you imagine? In the states that would be more than half the class. I guess there are usually that many working in the farm or sick. The month before I arrived in village I was told that 12 students here died of Typhoid. Anyways, I am a horrible teacher. But the kids watched me with a lot of attention and I have been told by other PCVs that even if I am a bad teacher just having a warm body in the classroom paying attention to them is more than they usually have. So it went alright.
I am a bit sick- dizzy, headache, fever. Shouldn't be anything too serious though. There is no way I have malaria so I will be fine. But compounded with the teaching, with a staff meeting where I had no idea what was going on and watching kids get hit more- some across the face... When I went to Juster's home for chai the frustration boiled over. In me, frustration manifests in tears. I have been told by other PCVs to not cry in front of Tanzanians. They don't cry and don't know how to react when you do. (Which tells you how many PCVs have done it. )Juster handled it very well. Mostly, I expressed frustration that I am not speaking well enough to get to know people. She reminded me how far I have come, how little time I have really been here, how much I do understand. I told her that I was fearful that the village would think I didn't want to talk to them. She responded the way my mom would-" Brie, you can only be responsible for what you do. You are trying very hard. They need to try too. You are doing nothing wrong." I still felt discouraged. It is funny when things are going poorly here something always happens to entirely restore my faith in being here.
This time it occurred on the way to town. They always put me in the front of the truck in stead of in the bed with everyone else. The car leaves for town at 4 am- so it is cold and dark. I usually am squished in the cab with a man of high rank in our village and the driver. Then some child is placed on my lap. I can't imagine putting your kid on a strangers lap in the states, but here it is the norm. So I have held babies, but most of the time I hold a sick kid. And I wonder what does this kid have? And I feel relieved that I have been vaccinated for everything as you cannot fear sickness here, you can't really avoid it. This ride, however, there was no child on my lap and I sat next to a Mama who I did not know. Juster put me in the cab and told them I was feeling sick. This mama was beautiful, she spoke to me in Kibena and I told her I didn't understand, so she sang to me in Kibena instead. I apologized for not speaking Kibena or Kiswahili very well. She repeated over and over, "Utaelewa, Utaelewa" (You will understand.) It was so sweet and so patient. She held me hand, let me sleep on her shoulder and petted my hair. I felt like a child, but it felt nice to have love. When we got to Njombe, I was feeling better she made me promise I would come visit her. She makes clothes and said she wanted to make me a skirt and feed me. I am glad to have another friend.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Pancakes
October 22, 2008
There are five chickens that live with me now. I am not sure where they came from. They sleep at night huddled together in my choo along with the baby mice- who Josh says I should kill because they are really rats and they will come into the house. But we all know that I haven't touched them and am choosing to believe that they will stay baby mice and stay in the choo- we shall see who is right... The chickens peck around the compost pile during the day and are great company, however, I had to put a stop to their activities when they started coming into the house. I am hoping they will start to leave some eggs in the choo room, but sort of seems weird to find food where you do your business... I spent most of the day today trying to rid my bed of the bed bugs that have moved in there. We think it is so cute in the states to say "Sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite". The reality is not quite so cute. Washing my giant blanket in a bucket was a chore that got me tired, soaking wet, and broke my clothesline- oh well, hopefully they are gone for good.
I have discovered that some people read this that I don't know- I have gotten emails from all sorts of people- which is great. Many of them are applying to the PC. I didn't really think about people like that reading this and I feel like sometimes my writing is a bit depressing. So in order to not scare people from joining the PC, thought I would explain more why I have had trouble at site. So I am the first volunteer in my village. They have no experience with white people, or the Peace Corps. They really have no idea what I am doing here. I think that the former head teacher was who applied to have a PCV but he left before I arrived. You might think- "Great, so she can just hang out in Africa for two years." But the actuality of this is not so great, I need something to keep me busy. We were taken to site for the first time by our Village Executive Officers (VEOs), they are basically like a mayor. Most PCVs have their VEO as their best friend, they introduce them to the community, help them call meetings, check on them, etc. Ummm... not the case in my experience. I haven't seen my VEO since the night he dropped me off. The good news is: I hyave found out that my community is pissed. Mzee Ngoda- my wizard neighbor- who is super-prominant in the community was complaining to Juster that he didn't think it was right that I wasn't formally introduced to the community, I guess he wanted there to be some sort of party. So I have not had the suppost system that was supposed to be here.
I went to school today, saw more kids get beaten... this time boys were forced to lay down and were beaten with sticks up their back and behinds. I had an open discussion with the teachers in our office about it. I told them I didn't like it and didn't want any part of it. They wanted to know our methods in the states. I explained report cards going home to parents, parental punishments: groundings, no tv, no friends, no sweets, summer school, etc. This turned out to be hilarious to them because as they brought up how would this ever work here? No one has tv, regular sweets, summer school doesn't exist and parents encourage children to skip school to work on the farm. This is going to be an uphill battle. I don't know how to change any of this. Change- a weird idea because what works for one culture will not work in another.. However, I am still too American to accept this as an appropriate form of punishment. They are doing pretty poorly in school, with girls underscoring boys by a lot in all subjects- showing me the need for the girls group even more. Oh and the English exam- the highest school in any level in the whole school was a 64%- a "D"- by a boy, of course. I am going to try to teach some English, but really I just speak it, I don't know why things are the way they are. I need my Dad, the English language guru to explain to these kids how it works.
One skill I have adopted from my Dad is how to make pancakes. I eat pancakes now for about one meal a day. I blast Bob Dylan on the ipod and make mango or banana pancakes. However, different from my dad I make them over a fire, without a spatula or frying pan- tricky, I know. But I have become an expert. I top them with peanut butter or jam- which would be a bummer in the states and I don't think Tanzanians know about maple syrup. But when you live in a country that grows peanut and makes the best peanut butterihave ever had and has jams that include mango, passionfruit, guava, pinneapple, peach- by the way, that is ONE type of jam all together. The toppings are pretty good. Thanks for the inheritance, Dad. :-)
There are five chickens that live with me now. I am not sure where they came from. They sleep at night huddled together in my choo along with the baby mice- who Josh says I should kill because they are really rats and they will come into the house. But we all know that I haven't touched them and am choosing to believe that they will stay baby mice and stay in the choo- we shall see who is right... The chickens peck around the compost pile during the day and are great company, however, I had to put a stop to their activities when they started coming into the house. I am hoping they will start to leave some eggs in the choo room, but sort of seems weird to find food where you do your business... I spent most of the day today trying to rid my bed of the bed bugs that have moved in there. We think it is so cute in the states to say "Sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite". The reality is not quite so cute. Washing my giant blanket in a bucket was a chore that got me tired, soaking wet, and broke my clothesline- oh well, hopefully they are gone for good.
I have discovered that some people read this that I don't know- I have gotten emails from all sorts of people- which is great. Many of them are applying to the PC. I didn't really think about people like that reading this and I feel like sometimes my writing is a bit depressing. So in order to not scare people from joining the PC, thought I would explain more why I have had trouble at site. So I am the first volunteer in my village. They have no experience with white people, or the Peace Corps. They really have no idea what I am doing here. I think that the former head teacher was who applied to have a PCV but he left before I arrived. You might think- "Great, so she can just hang out in Africa for two years." But the actuality of this is not so great, I need something to keep me busy. We were taken to site for the first time by our Village Executive Officers (VEOs), they are basically like a mayor. Most PCVs have their VEO as their best friend, they introduce them to the community, help them call meetings, check on them, etc. Ummm... not the case in my experience. I haven't seen my VEO since the night he dropped me off. The good news is: I hyave found out that my community is pissed. Mzee Ngoda- my wizard neighbor- who is super-prominant in the community was complaining to Juster that he didn't think it was right that I wasn't formally introduced to the community, I guess he wanted there to be some sort of party. So I have not had the suppost system that was supposed to be here.
I went to school today, saw more kids get beaten... this time boys were forced to lay down and were beaten with sticks up their back and behinds. I had an open discussion with the teachers in our office about it. I told them I didn't like it and didn't want any part of it. They wanted to know our methods in the states. I explained report cards going home to parents, parental punishments: groundings, no tv, no friends, no sweets, summer school, etc. This turned out to be hilarious to them because as they brought up how would this ever work here? No one has tv, regular sweets, summer school doesn't exist and parents encourage children to skip school to work on the farm. This is going to be an uphill battle. I don't know how to change any of this. Change- a weird idea because what works for one culture will not work in another.. However, I am still too American to accept this as an appropriate form of punishment. They are doing pretty poorly in school, with girls underscoring boys by a lot in all subjects- showing me the need for the girls group even more. Oh and the English exam- the highest school in any level in the whole school was a 64%- a "D"- by a boy, of course. I am going to try to teach some English, but really I just speak it, I don't know why things are the way they are. I need my Dad, the English language guru to explain to these kids how it works.
One skill I have adopted from my Dad is how to make pancakes. I eat pancakes now for about one meal a day. I blast Bob Dylan on the ipod and make mango or banana pancakes. However, different from my dad I make them over a fire, without a spatula or frying pan- tricky, I know. But I have become an expert. I top them with peanut butter or jam- which would be a bummer in the states and I don't think Tanzanians know about maple syrup. But when you live in a country that grows peanut and makes the best peanut butterihave ever had and has jams that include mango, passionfruit, guava, pinneapple, peach- by the way, that is ONE type of jam all together. The toppings are pretty good. Thanks for the inheritance, Dad. :-)
Thoughts While Biking
October 17, 2008
So I wasn't originally going to include this entry- I write a lot things that I don't include because I don't think they will be interesting to people but I have time at the Internet so it comes before the flower farm pics- out of order, but whatever.
To get to the party, I decided that my transport to town is so horrible that it would be worth it to ride 30K to Josh's village which is further away from town then mine and take his public transport in because his is much quicker. That is how bad my transport is: It is worth it for me to expend energy going further from town. His village is along the main road into Njombe, mine is not- so that is the big difference.
Before I get into it though, I want to mention something. At COS (Close of Service Conference- which I am still two years away from but know enough people who are closing to have some information) they tell you not to refer to your site as a "village" to other Americans because they have no concept of what an African village is. Do you? I like to use the word because Tanzanians use it and the village is pretty much what I pictured it would be- but maybe you are picturing something else. So thought I might attempt to describe where I live. It is big- I am not talking about a few measly huts- there are a lot of them. With a primary school of almost one thousand children, this is not a small place. However, the village is probably more than half made up of primary aged children. Most of the houses are about three rooms- two bedrooms and a sitting room. This houses about six people. They cook outside or in a separate hut and the choo (hole in the ground) is separate from the house as well. Almost all the house (except mine and about five others) are made of mud with a thatched roof. Mine is cement with a tin roof- however, my choo is like the others and is removed from the house. You can buy almost nothing in the village. There are a few dukas (shops) but they are really just someone selling tomatoes, beans and matches out of their living room. We have four fundis that I know about- this is like a jack of all trades- they made my furniture, they repair the homes, basically they are fix-it people. There are a few women who sew clothes. There is one bar. (I really hope you are not picturing Bridgeport Brewery or Rennie's in Eugene or even some hole in the wall place you might find around 6th and Hawthorne- don't picture these places.) This is some one's living room where men sit around and do nothing drinking pombe (locally made liquor) and they occasionally they have a few beers ordered from town. There is one TV in my village, no one has running water, some people have electricity which on a good week works for one night, we own two cars one of which is usually broken down. Are you picturing my village? Probably not, but I am going to keep calling it that.
Anyways, I decide to ride my bike. Village mornings are a beautiful time. Tanzanians are all awake by 5.30 AM. I like this time because it is getting light- the sun is red, the roosters are crowing, the mist is rising out of the valleys, there is a coolness in the air. Primary school children run around doing chores. Women head to the farms with a baby strapped to their back, a jembe (hoe) over their shoulder, and a bucket of water on their head. It is a peaceful time. Seeing Tanzania by bike is different than I have seen it before. My villagers shout out greetings as I ride passed and I am happy I have a bike. Then once I am through my village the biking gets tough. Tanzania would be a mountain bikers paradise, but for Brie: the girl whose favorite activity is to sit on the couch, eat ice cream and watch movies; This is work. I feel really Lance Armstrong-esque and like I am totally hardcore until I almost wreck in the gravel and scare myself. The roads are rough by bike and I actually get off on downhills to walk the bike as they are so sharp down with such rough gravel and dust that I am afraid of wrecking. Josh wrecked about a year ago on one of these roads, broke his collarbone and had to be medically evacuated for a month to have surgery in South Africa. As much as I would like to see South Africa, I am really not one for pain and I really want to see my friends and go to the farm. So I take it slow. The uphills are so extreme that I have to get off and walk those too- so at one point I wonder if it is even worth it to have the bike.
On one of those walking uphills, as I am panting, I take a moment to appreciate. The eucalyptus trees reaching up to the blue sky with leaves twinkling and I realize that I am alone. On a main road (or as main as they get here) I am alone- there are no cars, no people- then I see monkeys, so I am not all the way alone. There is something magical/special about where I am and I remember how difficult it is to be alone in nature in America. Americans love when confronted with over-population to blame it on Africans- "Oh, if they would just stop having babies... blah blah blah." Which I must admit is partly true- they do have a lot of kids. But since Americans are the ones reading this, I would like to inform you how little resources these kids take up compared to you. I will use myself as an example. In Tanzania, I live off two 5 gallon buckets of water a day- 10 gallons. This accounts for all my drinking water, cooking, bathing, dish washing, house mopping and I don't use it all so that once a week I have saved up enough to wash some clothes. Water is a worldwide problem that Americans just don't seem to get. In Tanzania, I wash fruit is some water and then pour it into a bucket to then bathe in. I wash dishes in a bucket and then use the water again in my garden. When I think of America, where I ran the laundry machine, the dishwasher and took showers that easily used up this 10 gallons, I feel ashamed that I took this for granted. I know Americans will never live like Africans, but it should be a challenge to us to think about our waste. There is nowhere in Tanzania that water is safe to drink without boiling it, even in Dar es Salaam. So next time you turn on the faucet, feel a bit thankful that you could drink that water straight (I know, you think it will taste bad) and not die, which is more than most of the world can say. Think for a minute about all the resources you are using- can you cut any of them out? Global warming is affecting places like Tanzania first- but they are not the ones using the resources. They are harvesting rain water off their roof, you are letting the water run while you brush your teeth. I think we can change our lifestyle a lot in the states. I know I plan to when I return. I bike and bike and walk and walk and I feel grateful that I have experienced what it is like to take a warm shower for minutes on end, but I am equally grateful to be sweating up hills looking forward to a bath in a bucket that is only a quarter full. I am glad I know this life. I am glad that I have a shared experience of going without like most of our neighbors on the other side of the planet.
So I wasn't originally going to include this entry- I write a lot things that I don't include because I don't think they will be interesting to people but I have time at the Internet so it comes before the flower farm pics- out of order, but whatever.
To get to the party, I decided that my transport to town is so horrible that it would be worth it to ride 30K to Josh's village which is further away from town then mine and take his public transport in because his is much quicker. That is how bad my transport is: It is worth it for me to expend energy going further from town. His village is along the main road into Njombe, mine is not- so that is the big difference.
Before I get into it though, I want to mention something. At COS (Close of Service Conference- which I am still two years away from but know enough people who are closing to have some information) they tell you not to refer to your site as a "village" to other Americans because they have no concept of what an African village is. Do you? I like to use the word because Tanzanians use it and the village is pretty much what I pictured it would be- but maybe you are picturing something else. So thought I might attempt to describe where I live. It is big- I am not talking about a few measly huts- there are a lot of them. With a primary school of almost one thousand children, this is not a small place. However, the village is probably more than half made up of primary aged children. Most of the houses are about three rooms- two bedrooms and a sitting room. This houses about six people. They cook outside or in a separate hut and the choo (hole in the ground) is separate from the house as well. Almost all the house (except mine and about five others) are made of mud with a thatched roof. Mine is cement with a tin roof- however, my choo is like the others and is removed from the house. You can buy almost nothing in the village. There are a few dukas (shops) but they are really just someone selling tomatoes, beans and matches out of their living room. We have four fundis that I know about- this is like a jack of all trades- they made my furniture, they repair the homes, basically they are fix-it people. There are a few women who sew clothes. There is one bar. (I really hope you are not picturing Bridgeport Brewery or Rennie's in Eugene or even some hole in the wall place you might find around 6th and Hawthorne- don't picture these places.) This is some one's living room where men sit around and do nothing drinking pombe (locally made liquor) and they occasionally they have a few beers ordered from town. There is one TV in my village, no one has running water, some people have electricity which on a good week works for one night, we own two cars one of which is usually broken down. Are you picturing my village? Probably not, but I am going to keep calling it that.
Anyways, I decide to ride my bike. Village mornings are a beautiful time. Tanzanians are all awake by 5.30 AM. I like this time because it is getting light- the sun is red, the roosters are crowing, the mist is rising out of the valleys, there is a coolness in the air. Primary school children run around doing chores. Women head to the farms with a baby strapped to their back, a jembe (hoe) over their shoulder, and a bucket of water on their head. It is a peaceful time. Seeing Tanzania by bike is different than I have seen it before. My villagers shout out greetings as I ride passed and I am happy I have a bike. Then once I am through my village the biking gets tough. Tanzania would be a mountain bikers paradise, but for Brie: the girl whose favorite activity is to sit on the couch, eat ice cream and watch movies; This is work. I feel really Lance Armstrong-esque and like I am totally hardcore until I almost wreck in the gravel and scare myself. The roads are rough by bike and I actually get off on downhills to walk the bike as they are so sharp down with such rough gravel and dust that I am afraid of wrecking. Josh wrecked about a year ago on one of these roads, broke his collarbone and had to be medically evacuated for a month to have surgery in South Africa. As much as I would like to see South Africa, I am really not one for pain and I really want to see my friends and go to the farm. So I take it slow. The uphills are so extreme that I have to get off and walk those too- so at one point I wonder if it is even worth it to have the bike.
On one of those walking uphills, as I am panting, I take a moment to appreciate. The eucalyptus trees reaching up to the blue sky with leaves twinkling and I realize that I am alone. On a main road (or as main as they get here) I am alone- there are no cars, no people- then I see monkeys, so I am not all the way alone. There is something magical/special about where I am and I remember how difficult it is to be alone in nature in America. Americans love when confronted with over-population to blame it on Africans- "Oh, if they would just stop having babies... blah blah blah." Which I must admit is partly true- they do have a lot of kids. But since Americans are the ones reading this, I would like to inform you how little resources these kids take up compared to you. I will use myself as an example. In Tanzania, I live off two 5 gallon buckets of water a day- 10 gallons. This accounts for all my drinking water, cooking, bathing, dish washing, house mopping and I don't use it all so that once a week I have saved up enough to wash some clothes. Water is a worldwide problem that Americans just don't seem to get. In Tanzania, I wash fruit is some water and then pour it into a bucket to then bathe in. I wash dishes in a bucket and then use the water again in my garden. When I think of America, where I ran the laundry machine, the dishwasher and took showers that easily used up this 10 gallons, I feel ashamed that I took this for granted. I know Americans will never live like Africans, but it should be a challenge to us to think about our waste. There is nowhere in Tanzania that water is safe to drink without boiling it, even in Dar es Salaam. So next time you turn on the faucet, feel a bit thankful that you could drink that water straight (I know, you think it will taste bad) and not die, which is more than most of the world can say. Think for a minute about all the resources you are using- can you cut any of them out? Global warming is affecting places like Tanzania first- but they are not the ones using the resources. They are harvesting rain water off their roof, you are letting the water run while you brush your teeth. I think we can change our lifestyle a lot in the states. I know I plan to when I return. I bike and bike and walk and walk and I feel grateful that I have experienced what it is like to take a warm shower for minutes on end, but I am equally grateful to be sweating up hills looking forward to a bath in a bucket that is only a quarter full. I am glad I know this life. I am glad that I have a shared experience of going without like most of our neighbors on the other side of the planet.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Flower Farm Party
Flower Farm Party Pics: October 18, 2008
Josh and Benja, cooking at Flower Farm before the party
Adina and Zummi
Adina and I: Pre- Party
Benja, doing yoga at the flower farm
Flower Farm Views
Roses grown by Zummi and Adina
Rose Greenhouses on the Hill
Josh and Benja, cooking at Flower Farm before the party
Adina and Zummi
Adina and I: Pre- Party
Benja, doing yoga at the flower farm
Flower Farm Views
Roses grown by Zummi and Adina
Rose Greenhouses on the Hill
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