"She's out on the highway She's got a homemade sign it says Go ahead try to figure out What my future looks like I don't want to live my life like a story Always thinkin I could've been something Don't run along side and control me Just film away and let me be At ease I, I feel fine I'll go on, I move on There's something so divided Don't worry about me I'll be fine Don't live your life for me or for anyone Live your life as if you're one Live your life as if you're one And find quiet, it's awful quiet " -Tegan and Sara
November 9, 2009
My loneliness led me into the trap that is Giza. I love my villagers but in many ways they are a poor replacement for who I used to be. I used to be the oldest sibling of a big American family with amazing parents. Beautiful is a word that often gets thrown in with my name. "Beautiful Brie", people don't care if it is factual as long as they like the alliteration. I have been teaching William English and even he has picked up putting the two words together, although to be fair Juster has always done it, so he probably just picked it up from her. We have a sad conversation though (in Swahili, his english sucks), "What will happen when you leave?" He asks. "Someone else will come." I say. "But they will not be you." "No, they won't be." I agree. "What am I supposed to do?" "The same thing you always did." I answer. "Africa will call you back." He confidently says. "I know." I say equally as confidently. (I think Africa has it's own way of making phone calls to those who feel it within themselves.) "But you cannot leave, because we love you." "I know." I say (I can't say anything else.) But I wonder if Peace Corps really brings cultures together or rips them apart. I wonder about who I used to be, who I will never be again. I remember the beautiful, charismatic, funny, elite group of six people that somehow I got randomly added to. That I get the privilege to call my family, how I have no idea, but I got extremely lucky. I remember that I used to have best friends I spoke English with. I used to look forward to the acadamy awards and a hot shower. For the last decade, I used to have some sort of boyfriend. I used to think I was scholarly, I loved Art History and Shakespeare. I used to be a Kappa Kappa Gamma sorority sister and wear black high heels and red lipstick, I used to revise grants to provide aid to Sudan, I drove a car, I drank wine, I used to sit in Powell's Books and dream about all the places I might go... I used to have a million terms to define myself. I am not sure that there are any anymore.
I thought I liked the company of myself, which I guess I have grown tired of- turns out I am no as cool/interesting/fun as I thought. That is where Kimulimuli comes in and I get a bit insane believing that he is fluent in both Kiswahili and English (which funnily enough he sort of is). In Tanzania, he is my family and like all animals he loves me unconditionally. I guess that is why I fell for Giza. I needed to feel a bit more love in my life.
I was visiting my Bibi (grandmother) whose cat has just had kittens. "Five!" I exclaimed. "Yes, but that one will die." She said matter of factly pointing to the little mostly black one with one orange toe and and orange stripe down her nose. "Why?" I asked looking at the healthy kitten. She looked at me like this was a stupid question, "Because everybody knows that black cats are inhabited by witches." Oh yeah, right. I forgot. I beg her to keep the little black one for me, but first Mzee Ngoda must come and do some sort of exorcism on it, so we are sure that it is safe. (Now that she lives with my I am not sure that the exorcism was entirely effective...) But she is allowed to go live with me. If there is an animal more pathetic than Kimulimuli, it has to be Giza. Unlike Muli, she is beautiful, but she drives us both crazy. She is too eager, constantly meowing, and much to both Muli and my dismay is afraid of thunderstorms. She takes turns following one of us around like we are both gods. Muli has zero patience for her and as I trip over her for the 28th time that day I have minimal patience. But some how as I cuddle her and she mews so pathetically, I love her. My Buddhist principle reminds me you must have the darkness to have the light. Kimulimuli literally means firefly, but also to light up or illuminate. Giza means darkness, obscurity or gloom. Now I am stuck with them- my African cat family. At least Kimulimuli earns his keep with his exceptional hunting skills. We shall see if Giz ever amounts to anything besides being small and obsessed with me. Muli and Giz try to make me feel less alone, but what can you really expect from two scrawny African cats?
Monday, November 16, 2009
First Rains
"The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware, joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware." -Henry Miller
November 7, 2009
I have kept pretty quiet about this but we ran out of water here in Image Village. Our ravines dried up- the students went down with shovels to dig for water but found minimal supplies. So the men got on their motorcycles and hauled back water from other villages, women walked for miles in search of our most precious resource. It turned out that cooking and drinking were the only things we still did with water. No one bathed, no one washed clothes- let's just say everyone smelled great... Brie is not someone who enjoys being dirty and likes to smell good. My parents love to tell the story of when I was little and would fall down, then waddle over to them and say "dirty" as I held out my hand for it to be cleaned. I would like to think that I am a little less "princess-y" now, but I have perfected the art of bathing all the "stinky parts" in about an inch of water. A dry season is normal in Tanzania. It hasn't rained since April or May and usually this is fine. I am not sure what the problem was this year but it was a problem.
In the Southern Highlands, the rain comes like nothing you have ever seen before. It was a sunny morning and around 3 pm it got so dark it was like night. Clouds rolled in black and menacing. First I heard thunder that rocked the hills then off over the rolling landscape, I saw the jagged lightning reach it's fingers down for the earth. I love lightning, I always have, I get some sort of high from it. Apparently Kimulimuli, my little firefly cat, was aptly named because he ran around house looking like an owl. I stood outside and watched it come. Suddenly the sky opened up- RAIN. Maybe because I am an Oregonian, maybe because I am a fire sign and need something to balance me out, but I need the rain. I let it wash over me, watched it trail through the dust, leaving white snail trails on my skin. I bathed in it, I opened my mouth and drank it, I danced in it. I put my dishes outside that have not been washed in forever but i just keep using. I brushed my teeth. I did everything you can possibly do with unlimited water. I could only focus on the rain and the deafening sound of it on my tin roof- nothing else could be heard until the thunder would unleash it's anger from above. Kimulimuli took advantage of the storm to go on a killing spree. Anything escaping into the house was fair game to him- including two huge rats, a lizard, many spiders, centipedes and other unknown bugs. I just twirled around finally clean- and thanked nature for its beauty, for providing for us, for its unknowable plan, for its magic.
November 7, 2009
I have kept pretty quiet about this but we ran out of water here in Image Village. Our ravines dried up- the students went down with shovels to dig for water but found minimal supplies. So the men got on their motorcycles and hauled back water from other villages, women walked for miles in search of our most precious resource. It turned out that cooking and drinking were the only things we still did with water. No one bathed, no one washed clothes- let's just say everyone smelled great... Brie is not someone who enjoys being dirty and likes to smell good. My parents love to tell the story of when I was little and would fall down, then waddle over to them and say "dirty" as I held out my hand for it to be cleaned. I would like to think that I am a little less "princess-y" now, but I have perfected the art of bathing all the "stinky parts" in about an inch of water. A dry season is normal in Tanzania. It hasn't rained since April or May and usually this is fine. I am not sure what the problem was this year but it was a problem.
In the Southern Highlands, the rain comes like nothing you have ever seen before. It was a sunny morning and around 3 pm it got so dark it was like night. Clouds rolled in black and menacing. First I heard thunder that rocked the hills then off over the rolling landscape, I saw the jagged lightning reach it's fingers down for the earth. I love lightning, I always have, I get some sort of high from it. Apparently Kimulimuli, my little firefly cat, was aptly named because he ran around house looking like an owl. I stood outside and watched it come. Suddenly the sky opened up- RAIN. Maybe because I am an Oregonian, maybe because I am a fire sign and need something to balance me out, but I need the rain. I let it wash over me, watched it trail through the dust, leaving white snail trails on my skin. I bathed in it, I opened my mouth and drank it, I danced in it. I put my dishes outside that have not been washed in forever but i just keep using. I brushed my teeth. I did everything you can possibly do with unlimited water. I could only focus on the rain and the deafening sound of it on my tin roof- nothing else could be heard until the thunder would unleash it's anger from above. Kimulimuli took advantage of the storm to go on a killing spree. Anything escaping into the house was fair game to him- including two huge rats, a lizard, many spiders, centipedes and other unknown bugs. I just twirled around finally clean- and thanked nature for its beauty, for providing for us, for its unknowable plan, for its magic.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Halloween and other Random Moments that Make up my Life
October 31, 2009
Halloween- the end of the Pagan year. So much to let go of, so much to be thankful for. This was one of my weirdest ones yet and there wasn't even any costumes involved.
Jen came to visit Image for the weekend and I could not have been more happy to see her. It has only been a little more than a month since she left but her presence is like a breath of fresh air. She is so easy to love. Almost everyone in Image is sick right now, I don't know how I have escaped the plague. Margaret has aptly called it "The season of death." So because mama Latifah (Mwalimu Monika) is sick right now, Jen and I ended up walk hours to her farm to burn it for her. The corn has all dies, so all Tanzanians burn their farms around this time- they do it at dusk. It is sort of unreal being in a burning cornfield, under an almost full moon in Africa on Halloween.
Eventually we realize that it is very dark and we are nearer to a "neighboring" village than we are to our own. We walk the mile or so there in the dark, William is there drinking beer with some guys and is surprised to see us stumble out of the bush in the dark. I am just relieved I did not see any snakes. Jen and William both think that we should haggle for a ride to get back to Image. The ride negotiations commence and I decide that I am worthless in this negotiation process and I am exhausted, so lie down in the grass. I piss William off because he tells me to get up but I pretend I don't understand him (This is like day one Kiswahili training), so he ignores me and I actually drift into snooze mode. (Geez, I must trust these two.) Luckily, I wake up for the funniest part of the whole conversation. They are debating about price.
Potential Driver: You can pay it. She is white. Tell her it is more and we can split her money later.
William: She is fluent in Swahili, so she understands you. Plus she is not white.
Driver: Yes, she is. She is white! We can make some money.
William: You have made a big mistake. She is my best friend and she is not white.
Driver: You're her best friend?
William: Yeah, Jen and I. (Adamantly) She is not white!
Driver: Okay, okay.
I am cracking up. My whiteness is the last thing I thought that could be debated. I finally get home. Mjemah shows up at my house with Anna in his arms (flanked by my two guards...geez). It is turning into a huge problem because Anna prefers to sleep at my house and won't go to sleep at home anymore. She is asleep within minutes of entering my arms. I make a fire in the fireplace, pop popcorn, drink pumpkin spice tea, and start "Twilight", the vampire series that all the Njombe girls are addicted to. There are no pumpkins, no trick-or-treaters, no candy, no orange lights, no big harvest celebration. But I am here and I celebrate alone which I have learned is the way that some things should be celebrated.
I crawl into bed next to Anna, who awakes at 2 am crying. I somehow remember how to ask her in Swahili if she had a bad dream. She nods and I hold her against me and tell her that "her Brie" is here and sing her the words that I can remember from the songs my parents sang to me when I was little. Soon she is back asleep, using my chest as a pillow- probably the cushiest part- one of her arms grips around me, and the other reaches up, fingers intertwined in my hair- I can only miss my mom, and the way I used to sleep. The weight of her body is strangely comforting. And i hold her small dark body against my large white one- so different, but so the same.
Halloween- the end of the Pagan year. So much to let go of, so much to be thankful for. This was one of my weirdest ones yet and there wasn't even any costumes involved.
Jen came to visit Image for the weekend and I could not have been more happy to see her. It has only been a little more than a month since she left but her presence is like a breath of fresh air. She is so easy to love. Almost everyone in Image is sick right now, I don't know how I have escaped the plague. Margaret has aptly called it "The season of death." So because mama Latifah (Mwalimu Monika) is sick right now, Jen and I ended up walk hours to her farm to burn it for her. The corn has all dies, so all Tanzanians burn their farms around this time- they do it at dusk. It is sort of unreal being in a burning cornfield, under an almost full moon in Africa on Halloween.
Eventually we realize that it is very dark and we are nearer to a "neighboring" village than we are to our own. We walk the mile or so there in the dark, William is there drinking beer with some guys and is surprised to see us stumble out of the bush in the dark. I am just relieved I did not see any snakes. Jen and William both think that we should haggle for a ride to get back to Image. The ride negotiations commence and I decide that I am worthless in this negotiation process and I am exhausted, so lie down in the grass. I piss William off because he tells me to get up but I pretend I don't understand him (This is like day one Kiswahili training), so he ignores me and I actually drift into snooze mode. (Geez, I must trust these two.) Luckily, I wake up for the funniest part of the whole conversation. They are debating about price.
Potential Driver: You can pay it. She is white. Tell her it is more and we can split her money later.
William: She is fluent in Swahili, so she understands you. Plus she is not white.
Driver: Yes, she is. She is white! We can make some money.
William: You have made a big mistake. She is my best friend and she is not white.
Driver: You're her best friend?
William: Yeah, Jen and I. (Adamantly) She is not white!
Driver: Okay, okay.
I am cracking up. My whiteness is the last thing I thought that could be debated. I finally get home. Mjemah shows up at my house with Anna in his arms (flanked by my two guards...geez). It is turning into a huge problem because Anna prefers to sleep at my house and won't go to sleep at home anymore. She is asleep within minutes of entering my arms. I make a fire in the fireplace, pop popcorn, drink pumpkin spice tea, and start "Twilight", the vampire series that all the Njombe girls are addicted to. There are no pumpkins, no trick-or-treaters, no candy, no orange lights, no big harvest celebration. But I am here and I celebrate alone which I have learned is the way that some things should be celebrated.
I crawl into bed next to Anna, who awakes at 2 am crying. I somehow remember how to ask her in Swahili if she had a bad dream. She nods and I hold her against me and tell her that "her Brie" is here and sing her the words that I can remember from the songs my parents sang to me when I was little. Soon she is back asleep, using my chest as a pillow- probably the cushiest part- one of her arms grips around me, and the other reaches up, fingers intertwined in my hair- I can only miss my mom, and the way I used to sleep. The weight of her body is strangely comforting. And i hold her small dark body against my large white one- so different, but so the same.
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