Look at the hand carving!
One of the most beautiful parts of the house is this bush, but coincidently, the way I believe the rats are getting into the ceiling- ahh, well, with good comes great evil.
Beautiful- these flowers are about as big as my head.
My dirty dirty feet in my favorite African sandals which I practically sleep in.
Me at home, looking hideous, I can't believe I am posting this picture online...
My village view:
The most beautiful view in the world. Which happens to be what I see from my bedroom window as the sun rises:
Beans- it is what's for dinner- every night...
View through my "kitchen":
Where my garden will eventually be:
My Yard:
My gross gross western toilet (no running water sort of puts a damper on things) and bathing area:
The Choo-- The other option:
Me in Village:
Looking out my bedroom:
View out my house:
The main living room: (Hopefully, going to be a "Before" picture)
My living room and fireplace:
September 1, 2008
I was a bit nervous to go back to site. What would it be like to really be there? Josh and I walked most of the way from his site to mine, so we got there after dark. We built a fire in my fireplace and talked about what could be done with the house. It was helpful to have someone else excited about the options there. We talked about what would grow in the garden, how to build bookshelves, a color scheme for how I would paint the walls. . . Soon it was seeming a lot more home-y, even though, I only own what fit into my two suitcases. It was nice to have someone speak the language, we talked to many people, ordered a bed to be built for me, and found out where local items can be bought. It was nice to have someone there to remind me that every noise my house makes wasn't something to be terrified of. And was probably just rats, who, at the least, will just keep you up running around the ceiling boards and at worst will eat you out of house and home and poop everywhere (this is presuming they are not still spreading the Plague.) Anyways, he stayed for two days to get me settled and then took off. It was weird to be alone again and I have to admit that I spent a lot of time last week just walking aimlessly from room to room at my house unsure of what to work on.
But a great thing happened. I made a friend. Her name is Juster (pronounced more like Justa). She is 27 and a teacher at the primary school. She lives on the other side of the school grounds from me in a thatched roof house. She lives with an orphaned student, she said because she is so lonely and needs help around the house. The great thing about Juster is she speaks English. She studied in Uganda and speaks both English and Kiswahili faster than I do. Now I think it is time to go into a list of reasons why I love Juster, there are many...
1) Every time I see her, which is multiple times a day, she says, "I am so satisfied to be in your company, we will learn so much from each other. I am very interested." Which is very reassuring.
2) Every thing she says she says first in Kiswahili at a regular pace, than in English, then she goes through and shows me which words stood for which things.
3) She feeds me (a lot). Josh reminded me that the way to get into a Tanzanian's heart is to eat everything they give you. He told me to do something that would be unfathomable in America. You go to a Tanzanians house, uninvited at mealtime, and eat. It took a lot of guts to do this the first time to her. I know she doesn't have money and it feels so weird to just go to someone's house expecting to eat. But now she says we should take all of our meals together, we don't, because I hate Ugali, but she doesn't know this, because I eat it.
4) Okay, the water is really far away from my house. It is about a 15 minute walk unencumbered by water, so longer with it. It is down in a ravine. Josh and I found it and carried some- it was horrible. I hate carrying water. My neck hurt horribly the next day, as I am not a Tanzanian woman used to carrying things on my head. I told Juster I wanted to hire someone to carry water for me, as I am a wimp. She said, "I think this water hole is disturbing to you" (Her words but not an exaggeration, it is "disturbing"). So now she sends primary school students over to carry for me daily.
5) Along the same lines: My house is a mess. Dirty, dirty, everything here is covered in dust and spiderwebs. I asked her to borrow a broom. Instead, she sent 15 primary school girls to my home with brooms and buckets of water. They proceeding to clean for over an hour. Now I have always wanted my own little fleet of slaves, but I do have to say that I was embarrassed about having over a dozen seven year old Cinderellas. (Kids here are just different- I will get to this later.)
6) Everyday she tells me that I am very pretty, but much too skinny. Why am I so skinny? Am I poor in America? (Being thin is a sign of poverty or sickness here. But little does she know the whole thing is a compliment to me.)
7) She is talkative and fun, generous and helpful. She has a cute smile and a tick or something with blinking her eyes which makes her so much more endearing.
Anyways, Juster has decided that she is my sister and little does she know I have also picked her as my PC counterpart in village. (Meaning she will help me implement my projects with the primary students.) I went to school with her and met the rest of the teachers, they all speak a bit of English, but much less than her. Anyways, the Mwalimu Mkuu (Head Teacher) wants me to start teaching health, Kiswahili (I thought he was joking), and English by the end of September. Crazy! I wouldn't mind except they teach in Kiswahili, so it is going to be really hard.
Another thing is primary school here is run like college in America, minus the academics, and add being allowed to beat the students in submission. They have about 80 kids to one class because they are under-staffed (15 teachers to 990 primary students- my village isn't huge but primary students probably make up about half the population.) So the kids just sit in the classrooms and the teachers move around teaching their subjects. Most of the time there is not a teacher around, education in the country has many problems. Kids skip class. And they are required to do this work study type of thing, (which is really more like slave labor) which includes fetching all of the teachers water, cooking, working on the farm and cleaning my house...
So last week one day Juster told me that we were going to the farm the next morning. I woke up and put on my farm working clothes all ready to get out there and dig. We walked to the farm and there was already about 200 primary students there hoeing. If you have never seen this many 7-10 year olds lined up, barefoot, hoeing in a field it is a sight. A weird one at that. I picked up a hoe and prepared to line up with them. Juster started laughing and told me "Brie, the teachers don't hoe." That is when I realized they were all drinking chai in the shade. Okay... So I sat down and watched kids hoe for 3.5 hours straight. One of my favorite teachers, Simon, (a man who is very tall and thin, with missing back molars, but a scholarly demeanour, ) was holding a giant stick and walking behind the kids. I thought "Oh, great. This is going to be my first introduction to corporal punishment. " I was really not looking forward to watching this teacher beat a child when it stopped working. I tried to make excuses for Simon in my head, this is a different culture, this is what he knows, I should still like and respect him. I try to come at things here like an anthropologist, and refrain from my American judgements. But I was still nervous. Finally a kid starts screaming, "Nyoka! Nyoka!" (Which I already knew meant snake.) All the kids around this one freeze. All I could think is why are they all barefoot? Simon runs over and beats it to death with a stick, picks it up and flings it into the woods. I am not sure if I mentioned this, but there is nothing a Tanzanian fears more than a snake. I saw 4 snakes get beaten to death in a little over three hours, but luckily the stick touched no child. I was only able to ID one of them: a green mamba; a deadly snake... great...
Now it is time to talk about primary school kids. They are weird, and I mean that in the nicest most non-judgemental sense. Primary school is required in Tanzania. The students are 7-14 years old. In the last year they take a test and if they do well enough they go on to O level secondary school, which they also have to be able to afford. Primary School is taught in Kiswahili, secondary school is taught in English, as you can imagine this makes for a difficult transition for kids. Now for why they are weird: they do whatever anyone makes them do. A kid belongs to everyone in Tanzania. You Can "Njo" (you say it and do the TZ "Come Here" hand signal) any kid to do whatever you want. Run get you a soda, get some water, walk you somewhere, dig in your garden, whatever. They never, and I mean none of them, cry, stomp their feet, roll their eyes, even sigh. It is so weird. I used to watch Bahati, my 8 year old sister get bossed around at homestay, she was always cleaning, helping with the babies, running errands, etc. I waited for her melt down. I am still waiting. Now I can't decide what is better, because I like that American children have a mind of their own, we nurture their individualism and openness to express their feelings. However, that being said there is something really nice about no whining or tantrums. I haven't seen a kid older than 4 cry here. Anyways, the primary kids live to be teacher/parent slaves. I feel guilt at how little they play. When you ask them what they like to do they say, "Ninapenda kupika..." (Trans. "I like to cook?" really? and then after chores they run out of things they like to do.) I bet any American kid could spout off a dozen things they like to do, not of which are chores. (I like to play video games, dolls, ride my bike, etc.)
When you walk into a Tanzanian classroom, the kids all stand up and say in unison "Good Morning, Teacher." And then they stand until you tell them to sit. (Josh has his classes saying "What's up, Doctor?" because most of us find this sort of forced collectivism awkward.) I picture my sister at home teaching primary school to 30 American students and how scary that will be for her. But I am more terrified for myself with 80 sets of brown Tanzanian eyes staring me down saying good morning, teacher and then expecting me to teach in a language I don't really speak. They are so eager, so patient, I am so afraid.
A PCV gave me some good advice saying that the hardest thing to do at site everyday is to leave your house. But it is so important that you walk out into the village everyday and give them a chance to become accustomed to you. It is true, leaving in the morning is scary, but hopefully after some time they will get used to the awkward white woman. In the meantime, I get to practice being a celebrity...
I was a bit nervous to go back to site. What would it be like to really be there? Josh and I walked most of the way from his site to mine, so we got there after dark. We built a fire in my fireplace and talked about what could be done with the house. It was helpful to have someone else excited about the options there. We talked about what would grow in the garden, how to build bookshelves, a color scheme for how I would paint the walls. . . Soon it was seeming a lot more home-y, even though, I only own what fit into my two suitcases. It was nice to have someone speak the language, we talked to many people, ordered a bed to be built for me, and found out where local items can be bought. It was nice to have someone there to remind me that every noise my house makes wasn't something to be terrified of. And was probably just rats, who, at the least, will just keep you up running around the ceiling boards and at worst will eat you out of house and home and poop everywhere (this is presuming they are not still spreading the Plague.) Anyways, he stayed for two days to get me settled and then took off. It was weird to be alone again and I have to admit that I spent a lot of time last week just walking aimlessly from room to room at my house unsure of what to work on.
But a great thing happened. I made a friend. Her name is Juster (pronounced more like Justa). She is 27 and a teacher at the primary school. She lives on the other side of the school grounds from me in a thatched roof house. She lives with an orphaned student, she said because she is so lonely and needs help around the house. The great thing about Juster is she speaks English. She studied in Uganda and speaks both English and Kiswahili faster than I do. Now I think it is time to go into a list of reasons why I love Juster, there are many...
1) Every time I see her, which is multiple times a day, she says, "I am so satisfied to be in your company, we will learn so much from each other. I am very interested." Which is very reassuring.
2) Every thing she says she says first in Kiswahili at a regular pace, than in English, then she goes through and shows me which words stood for which things.
3) She feeds me (a lot). Josh reminded me that the way to get into a Tanzanian's heart is to eat everything they give you. He told me to do something that would be unfathomable in America. You go to a Tanzanians house, uninvited at mealtime, and eat. It took a lot of guts to do this the first time to her. I know she doesn't have money and it feels so weird to just go to someone's house expecting to eat. But now she says we should take all of our meals together, we don't, because I hate Ugali, but she doesn't know this, because I eat it.
4) Okay, the water is really far away from my house. It is about a 15 minute walk unencumbered by water, so longer with it. It is down in a ravine. Josh and I found it and carried some- it was horrible. I hate carrying water. My neck hurt horribly the next day, as I am not a Tanzanian woman used to carrying things on my head. I told Juster I wanted to hire someone to carry water for me, as I am a wimp. She said, "I think this water hole is disturbing to you" (Her words but not an exaggeration, it is "disturbing"). So now she sends primary school students over to carry for me daily.
5) Along the same lines: My house is a mess. Dirty, dirty, everything here is covered in dust and spiderwebs. I asked her to borrow a broom. Instead, she sent 15 primary school girls to my home with brooms and buckets of water. They proceeding to clean for over an hour. Now I have always wanted my own little fleet of slaves, but I do have to say that I was embarrassed about having over a dozen seven year old Cinderellas. (Kids here are just different- I will get to this later.)
6) Everyday she tells me that I am very pretty, but much too skinny. Why am I so skinny? Am I poor in America? (Being thin is a sign of poverty or sickness here. But little does she know the whole thing is a compliment to me.)
7) She is talkative and fun, generous and helpful. She has a cute smile and a tick or something with blinking her eyes which makes her so much more endearing.
Anyways, Juster has decided that she is my sister and little does she know I have also picked her as my PC counterpart in village. (Meaning she will help me implement my projects with the primary students.) I went to school with her and met the rest of the teachers, they all speak a bit of English, but much less than her. Anyways, the Mwalimu Mkuu (Head Teacher) wants me to start teaching health, Kiswahili (I thought he was joking), and English by the end of September. Crazy! I wouldn't mind except they teach in Kiswahili, so it is going to be really hard.
Another thing is primary school here is run like college in America, minus the academics, and add being allowed to beat the students in submission. They have about 80 kids to one class because they are under-staffed (15 teachers to 990 primary students- my village isn't huge but primary students probably make up about half the population.) So the kids just sit in the classrooms and the teachers move around teaching their subjects. Most of the time there is not a teacher around, education in the country has many problems. Kids skip class. And they are required to do this work study type of thing, (which is really more like slave labor) which includes fetching all of the teachers water, cooking, working on the farm and cleaning my house...
So last week one day Juster told me that we were going to the farm the next morning. I woke up and put on my farm working clothes all ready to get out there and dig. We walked to the farm and there was already about 200 primary students there hoeing. If you have never seen this many 7-10 year olds lined up, barefoot, hoeing in a field it is a sight. A weird one at that. I picked up a hoe and prepared to line up with them. Juster started laughing and told me "Brie, the teachers don't hoe." That is when I realized they were all drinking chai in the shade. Okay... So I sat down and watched kids hoe for 3.5 hours straight. One of my favorite teachers, Simon, (a man who is very tall and thin, with missing back molars, but a scholarly demeanour, ) was holding a giant stick and walking behind the kids. I thought "Oh, great. This is going to be my first introduction to corporal punishment. " I was really not looking forward to watching this teacher beat a child when it stopped working. I tried to make excuses for Simon in my head, this is a different culture, this is what he knows, I should still like and respect him. I try to come at things here like an anthropologist, and refrain from my American judgements. But I was still nervous. Finally a kid starts screaming, "Nyoka! Nyoka!" (Which I already knew meant snake.) All the kids around this one freeze. All I could think is why are they all barefoot? Simon runs over and beats it to death with a stick, picks it up and flings it into the woods. I am not sure if I mentioned this, but there is nothing a Tanzanian fears more than a snake. I saw 4 snakes get beaten to death in a little over three hours, but luckily the stick touched no child. I was only able to ID one of them: a green mamba; a deadly snake... great...
Now it is time to talk about primary school kids. They are weird, and I mean that in the nicest most non-judgemental sense. Primary school is required in Tanzania. The students are 7-14 years old. In the last year they take a test and if they do well enough they go on to O level secondary school, which they also have to be able to afford. Primary School is taught in Kiswahili, secondary school is taught in English, as you can imagine this makes for a difficult transition for kids. Now for why they are weird: they do whatever anyone makes them do. A kid belongs to everyone in Tanzania. You Can "Njo" (you say it and do the TZ "Come Here" hand signal) any kid to do whatever you want. Run get you a soda, get some water, walk you somewhere, dig in your garden, whatever. They never, and I mean none of them, cry, stomp their feet, roll their eyes, even sigh. It is so weird. I used to watch Bahati, my 8 year old sister get bossed around at homestay, she was always cleaning, helping with the babies, running errands, etc. I waited for her melt down. I am still waiting. Now I can't decide what is better, because I like that American children have a mind of their own, we nurture their individualism and openness to express their feelings. However, that being said there is something really nice about no whining or tantrums. I haven't seen a kid older than 4 cry here. Anyways, the primary kids live to be teacher/parent slaves. I feel guilt at how little they play. When you ask them what they like to do they say, "Ninapenda kupika..." (Trans. "I like to cook?" really? and then after chores they run out of things they like to do.) I bet any American kid could spout off a dozen things they like to do, not of which are chores. (I like to play video games, dolls, ride my bike, etc.)
When you walk into a Tanzanian classroom, the kids all stand up and say in unison "Good Morning, Teacher." And then they stand until you tell them to sit. (Josh has his classes saying "What's up, Doctor?" because most of us find this sort of forced collectivism awkward.) I picture my sister at home teaching primary school to 30 American students and how scary that will be for her. But I am more terrified for myself with 80 sets of brown Tanzanian eyes staring me down saying good morning, teacher and then expecting me to teach in a language I don't really speak. They are so eager, so patient, I am so afraid.
A PCV gave me some good advice saying that the hardest thing to do at site everyday is to leave your house. But it is so important that you walk out into the village everyday and give them a chance to become accustomed to you. It is true, leaving in the morning is scary, but hopefully after some time they will get used to the awkward white woman. In the meantime, I get to practice being a celebrity...
2 comments:
Brie,
Thank you for the rare and incredible education you are giving us on these beautiful people. They are so fortunate to have YOU in their midst.
Love,
Bami
Snakes..I thought my rattlesnakes in our courtyard was horrid,but I call the hunky fire department guys for removal and they make me feel safe. Kids and snakes..You and snakes and rodents..I am starting to think about coming to see Kate in April..are the snakes sleeping by then?You all are so amazing. Be Safe..Carol Kate's MOM
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