I'm a Farmer?

June 2009


Not a great picture... but one of the holes in my toe from the egg sack. The top behind the nail is the other hole but difficult to photograph both.

Me... Sick, and wishing that my villagers with the best of intentions would just leave me alone.

Trying to scare Anna with my farm hands.

Farmer Brie... Looking a bit like a pirate armed with a jembe (hoe)...

Farm Hands... What you can't see is the blood. The villagers think it is hilarious that I farm fully decked out in jewelry, they obviously don't know me well enough yet...

So Tough...

Farm feet... Glamorous as usual...

A monster... Otherwise known as my cat, Kimulimuli

Night in Africa

I Become One of the Boys

"Blue as the sky, sunburnt and lonely, Sipping tea in the bar by the roadside, (just relax, just relax) Don't you let those other boys fool you, Got to love that afro hair do. Maybe sometimes, we feel afraid, but it's alright. The more you stay the same, the more they seem to change. Don't you think it's strange? Girl, put your records on, tell me your favourite song. You go ahead, let your hair down. Sapphire and faded jeans, I hope you get your dreams, Just go ahead, let your hair down. You're gonna find yourself somewhere, somehow. 'Twas more than I could take, pity for pity's sake, Some nights kept me awake, I thought that I was stronger When you gonna realise, that you don't even have to try any longer? Do what you want to." - Corinne Bailey Rae

June 2009


I fell in love... It happened all of a sudden, and I have to admit it wasn't love at first sight. At first sight they were strange, dirty, foreign. At first sight, I was lonely, isolated, scared. At first sight life was hard... It was so hard I cannot even put it into words. Then I fell in love. The funny thing is, I am in love with over two thousand people known as "Watu wa Image" (The people of Image Village). Tonight will be the first night in a month that I spend out of my village (Tonight I am in Njombe), and my month in my village changed everything. Now after almost a year with these people, I am in love. Today there is not isolation, there is no strangeness, there is only my villagers to which I belong. The verb most common used in reference to me now is "Zoea" (Accustomed or used to)- "Brie, Saa Hizi Umezoea..." (Brie, now you have become used to..." The funny thing is- I have.


It has been weird lately because there is a school vacation now and since none of my teachers are from our village they all left to go visit family. So there goes all my closest friends and main support system as well as anyone who might understand a word of English. So I spent a lot of time at Mama Johnson's Mgahawa helping her cook. I paint the inside, so that it looks nice, like a real restaurant and draw a huge crowd because my villagers are amazed that an American can roll paint onto a wall...

I spend most of my time, though, with my young guy crew. Puce, Justice, William, Fredrick, Stan, Luka, Felix, and usually a few extras are a fixture in my daily life. I walk by Mwalimu Mledwa's bar and they call me over to drink beer with them. It is the middle of the afternoon and they are playing checkers and drinking. I inform them that I cannot stay there because being the only woman, I look like a prostitute which makes them all laugh. Puce reminds me that they are pretty much my closest friends in the village right now and all the mamas are on the farms working so what else am I going to do?- Good point. We all have a great time and I use the opportunity once again to teach about health issues. They act like having children or a wife is only a minor inconvenience to having outside relationships too, which is a cultural thing that I cannot get over. One on one I ask William about it. First, a word about William, I like him, he is very calm and speaks Swahili slowly and carefully to me. He doesn't loose patience with talking to me and teaches me a few new words every day. I truly believe that he is a good person. Anyways, I tell him that I will withhold judgement but I ask, "Are any men faithful to their wives/partners that he knows of in our village?" He smiles at my innocence and looks into my eyes and tells me (In Kis) "Brie, I know of no one." A heavy weight hits me as I realize I am up against a whole cultural issue. They explain to me that it is their right as men and it is expected that they go outside their marriage. I ask about what a wife would do and they tell me she can't do anything, she is a woman, she knows that is what is going to happen. I want to re-iterate that Tanzanian men are not bad people, I truly believe this, but this cultural gender divide is deep. How am I supposed to teach the A, B, C's of AIDS prevention to this culture? I already threw out A. Teaching abstinence only works at the primary school not to mid-20 year old men. So I had been focusing on B- Be faithful to one partner and get tested together. Cultural acceptance of infidelity is maybe a river I cannot cross. I don't know. There is nothing I can say or teach that they don't already know- but behavior change? I am glad they are open with me and the best that I can expect is that we keep talking.

It is now dark and I am escorted home where the guys wait respectfully outside my house. They never enter because of the cultural divide between the sexes. It is not ten minutes after I get home when I hear male voices outside again and think great now I am asking for it being friends with men and I get ready to give them an ear-full but when I open the door I see William and Justice holding Puce up and they hurriedly tell me that he wrecked his motorcycle. There is blood everywhere. His face is ripped up, his knee, his elbow. Blood is soaking through his shirt. I, once again, realize that I am the least qualified person to live here. This is the first time the guys enter my house while I look for my PC medical kit. The guys take off his shirt and I realize that I have helped a lot of barely dressed women, but not men. I am amazed by the red/pink gash on his shoulder in his smooth chocolate skin. I feel totally nauseous, but try to sop up the blood. Eventually we have him bandaged and the guys hop back on their motorcycles and leave me for the night. (Note: Puce is recovering nicely. Think there will be no infection, but definitely some scars.)

The next day I get re-paid. I find a lump in my baby toe on my right foot. On the other side of where the teachers dug the egg sack out. I show it to William and Puce. Turns out, it is another egg sack. They tell me I am an idiot. How can I not feel it sooner? They tell me this one is big too and I need to do a better job of body inspection... great. So once again I lay on a couch with none of the coddling of Mama Lau, while William and Puce not so gently dig around with needles in my baby toe. This time the egg sack is halfway behind my toe nail making it more difficult to remove than the other one. Now my baby toe resembles Swiss cheese... awesome.

Justice comes to my house to tell me that his wife has requested that I come and see her that day. I have never met her, but I go that afternoon, first I stop at Mama Johnson's who tells me that Justice's wife is her friend but is "Kali Sana" (Very fierce/tough/hard). So I am a little bit scared. This is what PC warned female PCVs about- being friends with men, causing jealousy with their wives. But I have to go. Justice's wife is beautiful- shaved head, high cheekbones, thin but holds herself regally. She greets me warmly and has cooked a ton of food for me. We are about the same age but she has four young children. Three little boys and a baby girl named Wither. Mama Wither (as I will now call her) is truly kali sana. Wither begins to cry and Mama Wither just shoots her a look that is like "Don't you dare" and even though she is a baby, she doesn't dare. I should not have been nervous, she is thrilled to have me. We have a great time together and their children are adorable. I help her wash clothes and we talk and laugh. The next day Justice shows up at my house with five pineapples- a gift from his wife, my new friend.

Finally Mjemah and Mwalango return from traveling, so at least I have some teachers, even if they are the male ones. They are putting in a new Mgahawa (Cafe/bar) almost across the street from my house. This makes me very happy because I don't really have any neighbors and I think it will be nice to have people around in the evening. We all decide to go check it out. I have Anna (with freshly painted toenails) strapped to my back and we all walk over there. I walk behind all the men at the respectful distance until finally William turns around and says "What are you doing back there where we can't talk to you?" I tell them that I am being a good Tanzanian woman which they all chuckle at and Mjemah tells me that he thinks that now I have become a man. This sort of cracks me up. The longer I am here and the more I understand, the more the gender issues bother me. People who have travelled all over Africa say that this is the way most of the countries are, however, for some reason Tanzania is particularly bad. The divide here is huge between women and men and their rights.

I start to come down with some kind of chest cold. My nose is runny and I feel horrible. Fredrick asks me if I am going to die, which I want to laugh at until I realize that people do just die here. Maybe of a runny nose, who knows? The guys want to sleep in my sitting room in case I die, but I refuse. They think I need some special drink, but like men the world 'round they have no idea how to function without women. So they send Mama Maki with a whole thermos full of chai that she has made especially for me with lemon and ginger. But she is too busy to take care of me, and they all think I need to be with someone. Ever since Puce's accident, now it is somehow okay to enter my house, so I lay coughing on the couch and the guys just lounge around my living room. Finally, Mary and Jen return... Yes! The guys are dismissed to get back to checkers, drinking, and driving their motorcycles around and two of my best friends decide it is their job to be with me non-stop. Jen goes to work cooking me porridge, and some concoction of leaves and eucalyptus berries which actually does make me feel better. Mary lays with me in bed and pets my hair. There is definitely something to be said about being one of the girls...

I am a child

"Well some thing's lost but some thing's gained. I've looked at life from both sides now from win and lose and still somehow it's life's illusion's I recall, I really don't know life at all." -Joni Mitchell



June 8-16, 2009

I lay on the couch looking up at the thatched roof. Mama Lau (Mwalimu Vakinga) runs her hands through my hair as my head rests in her lap. Baba Lau (Mwalimu Simon) gently holds my right foot as he digs into it with a needle. On his other side, Mwalimu Jen digs with another needle. Mwalimu Mary hovers over lightly blowing on my foot, which is supposedly going to help, but actually isn't stopping the pain at all. Teachers Mwalango and Mjemah refuse to look, but try to jokingly distract me. Lau dances around the living room singing and teasing me, as any little brother should. Today I am five and not twenty-five. Why am I undergoing minor surgery with needles in a Tanzanian village?



Well my little toe on my right foot has started to hurt when I walk. I think nothing of it because my body is often in some sort of pain. Eventually though I go to Mama and Baba Lau's house to see what is up. All of the teachers are hanging out there, we are there a lot because they have one of the only TV's in our village- access to the outside world. I say (In Kis, obviously) "hey my foot hurts... why?" They look at it and all exchange looks. They don't say anything to me and instead start speaking quickly to each other in Kibena, so I am not understanding a word of it until Mjemah sends a primary school student out to buy two "Big" needles he says. Then Jen calmly explains to me that there is an egg sack in my foot. The teachers then use the words "Kubwa" (big) and "Chelewa" (late) which is never good in reference to an egg sack. Apparently it needs to come out now so there I am undergoing surgery with baba Lau acting as the lead doctor. Mama Lau coddles me and I realize I am still a child with my Dad digging out slivers while my mom holds my hand. Then, I guess it was pay back time for how many naked African women I have seen because I am forced into the bedroom with Mama Lau, Jen and Mary who want to check over every inch of me for other egg sacks. Luckily, they find none. Now, I just have a big gaping hole in my baby toe. Such is life. But I try to figure out who will be most grossed out by this whole situation.... of course, my dear baby sister, Raeme. So I send that text, just to get her reaction, which was not disappointing.



A minute about Baba and Mama Lau. I love this family immensely. They are the only family where I see every member on a daily basis. Tanzanians are funny and fun to talk to but there is something really special about their relationship with each other and with me. They might be the only Tanzanian marriage where I can see love and respect when they look at each other. They are also very open with me and ask me a million questions about myself, America, life in general. They have the wonderful ability of making every conversation I have with them feel like it was the best conversation of my life and that my Swahili was amazing. They are incredibly special people and the more time I spend with them the more I love all three of them.



Mama Johnson has opened her Mgahawa (cafe) with a loan from Mwalimu Mledwa and a smaller one from me. It has been super successful and she has already started to pay back on it. She is a great cook and feeds me and feeds me. She likes to have me there to keep her company and bring in the business, which I sort of do. For one thing, I have my whole little 20-30 year old boys group who have nothing better to do then see what I am doing that day. Puce, Jaystus, Stan, Fredrick, and William are sort of like built in body guards. They are either riding their motorcycles, drinking beer, or hanging out where ever I am at. Got quite a shock the other day though when I learned that they have all fathered children- I shouldn't be so naive, but Jaystus has four and we are the same age! When I asked about marriage they all just sort of shrugged and I wonder why I came to this "man's world" where women don't matter. I remind myself that our cultures are different and I am here to learn about theirs, but never the less I give them a little lecture about taking care of their "families".



The other morning they show up at my house at 6.45 am. They never come in, I might now be considered a friend but men and women still have very significant divides. They walk me to what I think is a village meeting. Turns out it is over one hundred village men and me. I am told to sit up front with the village chairperson. I am absolutely terrified as I look out at the hundreds of dark eyes all fixed to mine as if they can read my mind... So I make sure they can't, instead of playing the everyone is naked game I play my own game- I think about Disneyland, Carmel frappicinos, zip-lining in Costa Rica, New York City, Multnomah Falls, skinny dipping in Maui, Pioneer Square brew fest at X-mas time... ha! Trying to read my mind... as if. No matter who is talking everyone is looking at me. I look out at the men I consider my fathers, brothers, friends, who have kept me safe for a year so far, so I stand up and give them my spiel... AIDS- one wife, we are all getting tested, condoms... help your wife... let your children go to school... what can we do to make this place better?.... etc. It goes over well, the men in my village include me and love me for some reason. There are definitely weird issues with being a female PCV, but you also sort of get the best of both worlds. Mary, Jen and I have the saying "HB"- meaning "handsome boy"... haha The women talk to me about periods, sex, beauty products, and a million other things I don't think would ever be said in the presence of a male PCV. Yet still, I can chill and drink beer with the guys.



I had a terrifying moment the other day. A very pregnant woman grabbed my wrist and led me into her house. Then into her bedroom (bedrooms are super sacred places in TZ, where no one besides you enters without explicit permission- so I was weirded out) then she starts undressing. She tells me this is her first child and she is having pain. Can I deliver it? SAY WHAT!?!? I feel like Prissy in Gone With the Wind when I say, "Aww, Miz Scarlett, I don' know nuthin' 'bout birthin' babies." I am terrified because we are having a village emergency and our car is broken down and our village nurse is away. Eventually, I pull together some old women who are able to help this woman give birth. Update: both baby and mother are fine and I did not deliver it... thank God.



When in Rome... or Tanzania... I went to the Shamba (farm) the other day with a bunch of mamas, since this is how we get our food, I figured I should be involved. They laid out some cloth for the kids (aged 2-4... older than that and you should be working) and told me to sit. I had to insist that I could help. Tanzanians believe that Americans are totally helpless, which I have to admit in a lot of ways we sort of are. I worked like a turk... I dug until I have open sores in my hand then we harvested sweet potatoes. This involved looking at cracks in the dirt before digging with your hands to unearth them. When I asked why we weren't using hoes they said because it breaks the potatoes.... makes sense. So I dug like a dog. They couldn't believe I did not know how to figure out where they were buried. 'How do you find them in America?' they asked incredulously. I was to embarrassed to tell them that I find them in aisle one under neon lighting after having been lightly sprayed with water... As it started to get dark the women hauled the sacks of potatoes on top of their heads, (They have such amazing balance that they do not need to use their hands at all) strapped the babies to their backs, and hiked out back out of Shamba-land into the village. I skipped along picking flowers with the toddlers and carrying nothing... in Tanzania I am a helpless child. So much to learn.


" ...People crying silent tears wondering when life will get any better. See that some thing's wrong, don't know where you belong, the wrong seem right and the right seem wrong. The world may seem upside-down but don't let that slow you down. Be a good heart and don't frown." -Desiree

Obama's Speech: A Reflection

"Thou shall not sit idly by." -Ellie Wiesel

June 4, 2009

I realize that Barack Obama is only a man. He is not some sort of saint and has already done a few things that liberal Americans did not agree with. But, boy, can that man speak. I have not even set foot in America since he was elected president, yet my heart is happy knowing that he is there and that he has the courage to face the issues we face as a world. Since being in Africa, I have realized that everyone wants a piece of this man. He might be the most beloved president ever and he has the luck of following the worst. He is only a man, and yet, he has become my modern day Gandhi, who was also just a man but tried, as Obama is doing, to bring us together. To make the world a better place.

I listen to his speech in front of my one window that receives short wave radio, in my village in the middle of Tanzania. Tears stream down my face as I hold the small, battery-operated radio at the right angle to receive the transmission. Ironically, during one part of the speech another station overlaps it that is playing "Hallelujah". Hallelujah indeed.

The tears come from happiness, they mourn for events that happened much before my birth, they wash away the fear that I have held onto since that Fall morning when I was 17 and realized that the world would never be the same. Barack Obama may be only a man, but he is a man who reminds and inspires me that each one of us no matter how little we are, (even if we are just a 25 year old woman living in a tiny village) can affect the world.

I look down at my tattoo. A sign of teenage impulsiveness, but also a symbol of a belief that I will always hold onto as it proudly proclaims in Sanskrit, "Non-violence". Non-Violence. Gandhi believed that the world was naturally a violent place and our job was to actively reject it and choose another way. The path of peace.

For the past year, I have served as a U.S. Peace Corps Volunteer in Tanzania. I think about Obama's word when he says that it is easier to blame and see what is different in someone than to look inward into one's own self. Really, this is what Peace Corps is all about: self-reflection, finding similarities, celebrating differences. I have learned an infinite number of things since coming to Tanzania, but one of the most unexpected that I have come to start to understand is the true choice of non-violence. In Portland, Oregon, I always thought of myself as a person practicing non-violence. I surrounded myself with people of a like-mindedness. Friends and family who were liberal, spiritual but not into organized religion, vegetarian, conscientious of others and the planet, for women's rights and against war... They looked, talked and believed almost exactly like me. I love these people, but it wasn't until coming to Africa that I really realized that non-violence is a choice that comes from being surrounded with those who are different from you, being with those who disagree, and when you could lash out with hate, you choose to seek understanding.

Tanzania is a diverse country with hundreds of tribes and religious beliefs split almost equally among Christians, Muslims and traditional tribal beliefs. Now I won't try to pretend that Tanzania is some type of Utopia because it certainly is not, but I have never seen people get along so well together in the face of varying values. Everyday that Tanzania remains a peaceful country is because the citizens are choosing the route of non-violence. They are choosing to look inward and respect each other. I watch Tanzanians ask each other which tribe they are- an important part of any Africans identity, however, it never seems to make any divisions only bring people together because if they are the same tribe than they will switch from Swahili to some tribal language and compare family histories to see if they know anyone in common.

I learn the non-violence is easily practiced in a college town like Eugene, Oregon. It is an entirely different thing when you hear the haunting call to prayer and watch your host family bring out their mats and kneel to worship, their dark foreheads lowered to the ground, and instead of feeling threatened, hostile, and hateful- Tears come to your eyes because you have never seen anything so beautiful and are blessed to be in the presence of someone, no matter how different, freely and openly experiencing peace and love.

So when President Barack Obama says to the world, "All of us share this world for only a brief moment in time." I say, "Thank you, Peace Corps. Because of this experience, I know who else is in this world, and despite our differences, I see beauty and am able to react with non-violence. Now I know, peace is possible."