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.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
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 HillBrie the Martian
October 14, 2008
I have always wondered why Juster and Jen ask me what oil I use on my skin and hair and then act surprised when I say none. I always think "Oil? Why would you add oil to someone who rarely bathes?" Then my heels cracked open and I began to understand the necessity of it. Jen and Juster decided I needed a make-over the other day. So the braided my hair exclaiming how beautiful I would now be. And despite the difference in our hair, they actually did a pretty decent job putting corn rows in. I brought over some old Newsweek magazines, an old Star and Intouch. Bring these to the party actually caused these female teachers to scream with delight. They don't know who any of the people are but are fascinated by American media. I'll begin with the trash celebrity mags- Tanzanians have a totally different concept of beauty than Americans and were shocked to see the revealing clothing. They pointed to a picture of Britany Spears and told me I looked like "that girl". All I thought was "Really? When was the last time I was staggering around the village drunk in a bikini cigarette in hand?" But really, "This is Star Magazine. You could have picked any other white girl in here and it would have been a compliment." But honestly, Tanzanians think all Americans look alike. I have been actually asked how we tell people apart because we all look alike. My answer: we have different eye color, hair color, heights, skin color, builds..... Anyways, one white person, same as all the rest.
So I must admit I have this fantasy. Similar to the one of taking my host siblings to Disneyland just to see what they would do. This one involves giving Juster an American make-over. She thinks she is unattractive because she is thin which does not fit with the African standard of beauty. She is about my height, but much thinner with African woman curves.She wears her hair typically covered and underneath braided. But her hair is about as long as mine and I have watched it get braided. When it is just in its natural state is is big and beautiful. So my image is this: Juster in sunglasses, hair natural, jeans, boots, tank top (She would never wear any of this) strolling down NW 23rd in Portland doing a bit of shopping. She would stop traffic. But she lives in a tiny village in Tanzania, so for now we just have dance parties in her living room- she is incredible, I, on the other hand, am not. The magazines were interesting to watch them read. Because I live in Africa, I am fairly closed off from the rest of the world, but I still know what is out there. Watching them read ads for cars, make-up, reality TV shows that they have no idea exist was weird to see there reactions. Almost more importantly, I was wondering, do they know who Shakespeare even is? And is that really that important when you are trying to get by in an African village in the 21st century? I would like to argue that it is, but I just don't know. It is amazing to think that there are people all over the world that are this closed off- which brings me to the Newsweeks.
The Female teachers have all completed secondary school. Jen and Juster are the only two that speak any English, the rest do not. But 90% of Tanzanians do not go to school past Primary, so this makes these women among the 10% most educated Tanzanians. Yet- I am going to relay some of the conversation we had. I am not judging these women, because they know many skills and things that I do not, but I was surprised by some of the questions I was asked. We speak a combination of Kiswahili and English when we talk, but obviously writing this in English. So I bring the Newsweek out with Obama on the front- we have talked a bit about him- they have heard his name but know little else.
Juster: Brie, you said that this man was African, but he is not. He is Mzungu (White Foreigner).
Me: Why is he Mzungu?- I said he was half black, he is all American.
Juster: Because he is Mzungu clothes (The picture of him he is in a nice suit.) He cannot be the president of the United States.
Me: Why not?
Juster: Because he cannot control all the white people, are you not afraid of war? The white people will start a war. Brie, white people do not like black people. Isn't he part of the second class?
Me: There are black people in America too, and we want Obama. There will not be a war white people against black people. Americans are all equal we have no classes (Not sure this is entirely true, but what we are told to believe, right?)
Juster: I think this is just you. I think you are not afraid of Africans because you live here and are very poor with us. It is very funny that you cook over a fire and have no electricity. You really are very funny. I wonder when Africans go to America we think this is very good for them and they are very smart, but what do Americans think about you coming and living here. You really are going backwards.
Me: Many Americans want to visit Africa. But many are also afraid. They think you are all starting wars like in Sudan and the Congo. They think you all are very hungry and have AIDS. But people in America like to hear about how you live and they are happy that I am here trying to help.
Jen: Yes, Americans are afraid of us. You are very brave because we are very poor. Will Obama help us in Africa?
Me: Yes, I think he will. We want him because he will stop the fighting in Iraq, he is going to help our health care system, find more jobs, help our environment.... (I go on and on with hopes)
Jen: But Americans are very rich, they are all very happy. (This might be the most common Tanzanian misconception about America).
Me: No- things are bad in America. (I go on to try to describe our economic downfall, our worldwide fall in popularity, etc.)
Juster: I can not believe that there are poor people in America. Brie, how many villages in Oregon (They know this is where I am from although they have no idea where it is.) don't have electricity?
Me: (Still working hard to picture what a "village" in Oregon would look like- Drain? Jewell? Glide?- I don't know, she sort of has me here. I look around at the thatched roofs of my village, the mud walls, the chickens milling about, the kids sitting in the dirt... hmmm.... "Oregon villages") That's not poverty in the states. (Then I make a mistake) Some people even live out of their cars, they have no house!
(This elicits a lot of laughter, as I forget that no one has cars here, yet everyone has a mud hut and a corn field.)
Juster: (Jokes) Why do they put their couches- in there cars?
(Clearly, I did not make a good point about American poverty)
Me: Obama is the answer.
Jen: I know there is somewhere called South America. Will he be president there too? (For a second, I judge. How could a teacher who is educated not know the answer to this? I try not to show it on my face. And why should she know? It doesn't affect her any. When I told people I was coming to Tanzania, most people could place it on a map. )
Me: No, it is a separate continent. He won't be president of Canada or Mexico either. Only the United States.
Jen: Oh, yes. It is like Tanzania and Uganda. We have different presidents. But what a bout Bush? Will he be president to?
Me: No. (Again I judge. Then I realize that she actually knows who our president is and how many Americans know who the president of Tanzania is? Anyone?) Just Obama-- luckily.
Juster: Germany and America are very close to each other, yes?
Me: (Again, thinking; "Is she serious?" Later I realize that Germans and Americans are both white and both speak English to Tanzanians- so why not think they are close geographically? If they were in Africa where people looked the same and could speak the same language they would be close.) No, Germany is in Europe- The Atlantic Ocean is between us.
Juster: So, what is your mother tongue?
Me: English
Juster: But what language do your parents speak?
Me: English
Juster: But you only know English?
Me: English, Basi. (Basi is this great Kiswahili word they put at the end of sentences which basically means "stop" or "Enough".)
Juster: In America, everyone speaks English?
Me: Some people speak other languages- but there are no tribal languages like here.
Jen: So what tribe are you?
Me: ( I think of being smart and answering Cherokee and picture my family with feathers and war paint- but the joke would be lost- so I answer) I have some Irish in me.
Jen: So you are Irish?
Me: No, I am American... (It is all lost in Translation- Who am I? What am I doing here? It is all confusion to them. I am a Martian.)
I have always wondered why Juster and Jen ask me what oil I use on my skin and hair and then act surprised when I say none. I always think "Oil? Why would you add oil to someone who rarely bathes?" Then my heels cracked open and I began to understand the necessity of it. Jen and Juster decided I needed a make-over the other day. So the braided my hair exclaiming how beautiful I would now be. And despite the difference in our hair, they actually did a pretty decent job putting corn rows in. I brought over some old Newsweek magazines, an old Star and Intouch. Bring these to the party actually caused these female teachers to scream with delight. They don't know who any of the people are but are fascinated by American media. I'll begin with the trash celebrity mags- Tanzanians have a totally different concept of beauty than Americans and were shocked to see the revealing clothing. They pointed to a picture of Britany Spears and told me I looked like "that girl". All I thought was "Really? When was the last time I was staggering around the village drunk in a bikini cigarette in hand?" But really, "This is Star Magazine. You could have picked any other white girl in here and it would have been a compliment." But honestly, Tanzanians think all Americans look alike. I have been actually asked how we tell people apart because we all look alike. My answer: we have different eye color, hair color, heights, skin color, builds..... Anyways, one white person, same as all the rest.
So I must admit I have this fantasy. Similar to the one of taking my host siblings to Disneyland just to see what they would do. This one involves giving Juster an American make-over. She thinks she is unattractive because she is thin which does not fit with the African standard of beauty. She is about my height, but much thinner with African woman curves.She wears her hair typically covered and underneath braided. But her hair is about as long as mine and I have watched it get braided. When it is just in its natural state is is big and beautiful. So my image is this: Juster in sunglasses, hair natural, jeans, boots, tank top (She would never wear any of this) strolling down NW 23rd in Portland doing a bit of shopping. She would stop traffic. But she lives in a tiny village in Tanzania, so for now we just have dance parties in her living room- she is incredible, I, on the other hand, am not. The magazines were interesting to watch them read. Because I live in Africa, I am fairly closed off from the rest of the world, but I still know what is out there. Watching them read ads for cars, make-up, reality TV shows that they have no idea exist was weird to see there reactions. Almost more importantly, I was wondering, do they know who Shakespeare even is? And is that really that important when you are trying to get by in an African village in the 21st century? I would like to argue that it is, but I just don't know. It is amazing to think that there are people all over the world that are this closed off- which brings me to the Newsweeks.
The Female teachers have all completed secondary school. Jen and Juster are the only two that speak any English, the rest do not. But 90% of Tanzanians do not go to school past Primary, so this makes these women among the 10% most educated Tanzanians. Yet- I am going to relay some of the conversation we had. I am not judging these women, because they know many skills and things that I do not, but I was surprised by some of the questions I was asked. We speak a combination of Kiswahili and English when we talk, but obviously writing this in English. So I bring the Newsweek out with Obama on the front- we have talked a bit about him- they have heard his name but know little else.
Juster: Brie, you said that this man was African, but he is not. He is Mzungu (White Foreigner).
Me: Why is he Mzungu?- I said he was half black, he is all American.
Juster: Because he is Mzungu clothes (The picture of him he is in a nice suit.) He cannot be the president of the United States.
Me: Why not?
Juster: Because he cannot control all the white people, are you not afraid of war? The white people will start a war. Brie, white people do not like black people. Isn't he part of the second class?
Me: There are black people in America too, and we want Obama. There will not be a war white people against black people. Americans are all equal we have no classes (Not sure this is entirely true, but what we are told to believe, right?)
Juster: I think this is just you. I think you are not afraid of Africans because you live here and are very poor with us. It is very funny that you cook over a fire and have no electricity. You really are very funny. I wonder when Africans go to America we think this is very good for them and they are very smart, but what do Americans think about you coming and living here. You really are going backwards.
Me: Many Americans want to visit Africa. But many are also afraid. They think you are all starting wars like in Sudan and the Congo. They think you all are very hungry and have AIDS. But people in America like to hear about how you live and they are happy that I am here trying to help.
Jen: Yes, Americans are afraid of us. You are very brave because we are very poor. Will Obama help us in Africa?
Me: Yes, I think he will. We want him because he will stop the fighting in Iraq, he is going to help our health care system, find more jobs, help our environment.... (I go on and on with hopes)
Jen: But Americans are very rich, they are all very happy. (This might be the most common Tanzanian misconception about America).
Me: No- things are bad in America. (I go on to try to describe our economic downfall, our worldwide fall in popularity, etc.)
Juster: I can not believe that there are poor people in America. Brie, how many villages in Oregon (They know this is where I am from although they have no idea where it is.) don't have electricity?
Me: (Still working hard to picture what a "village" in Oregon would look like- Drain? Jewell? Glide?- I don't know, she sort of has me here. I look around at the thatched roofs of my village, the mud walls, the chickens milling about, the kids sitting in the dirt... hmmm.... "Oregon villages") That's not poverty in the states. (Then I make a mistake) Some people even live out of their cars, they have no house!
(This elicits a lot of laughter, as I forget that no one has cars here, yet everyone has a mud hut and a corn field.)
Juster: (Jokes) Why do they put their couches- in there cars?
(Clearly, I did not make a good point about American poverty)
Me: Obama is the answer.
Jen: I know there is somewhere called South America. Will he be president there too? (For a second, I judge. How could a teacher who is educated not know the answer to this? I try not to show it on my face. And why should she know? It doesn't affect her any. When I told people I was coming to Tanzania, most people could place it on a map. )
Me: No, it is a separate continent. He won't be president of Canada or Mexico either. Only the United States.
Jen: Oh, yes. It is like Tanzania and Uganda. We have different presidents. But what a bout Bush? Will he be president to?
Me: No. (Again I judge. Then I realize that she actually knows who our president is and how many Americans know who the president of Tanzania is? Anyone?) Just Obama-- luckily.
Juster: Germany and America are very close to each other, yes?
Me: (Again, thinking; "Is she serious?" Later I realize that Germans and Americans are both white and both speak English to Tanzanians- so why not think they are close geographically? If they were in Africa where people looked the same and could speak the same language they would be close.) No, Germany is in Europe- The Atlantic Ocean is between us.
Juster: So, what is your mother tongue?
Me: English
Juster: But what language do your parents speak?
Me: English
Juster: But you only know English?
Me: English, Basi. (Basi is this great Kiswahili word they put at the end of sentences which basically means "stop" or "Enough".)
Juster: In America, everyone speaks English?
Me: Some people speak other languages- but there are no tribal languages like here.
Jen: So what tribe are you?
Me: ( I think of being smart and answering Cherokee and picture my family with feathers and war paint- but the joke would be lost- so I answer) I have some Irish in me.
Jen: So you are Irish?
Me: No, I am American... (It is all lost in Translation- Who am I? What am I doing here? It is all confusion to them. I am a Martian.)
Weekend Guests
October 10-12,
This weekend I stayed at my site- but my closest PCV neighbors came to spend the weekend with me. Josh- who I have gotten to know really well since staying with him during my early site panic and hanging out with him on weekends in town or at one of our sites- he has helped me dig a garden and fix my house up a bit. Also coming for the weekend was Margaret- who is from my group and was my room mate when we first arrived in country. She is 22 and from Michigan. Teresa- also from my group, who is 27 and from Colorado. When I say they are my closest neighbors "close" is sort of an overstatement. They are all within tough biking distance. Over rough back roads- they can each make it within a day, biking from various directions, I am sort of centrally located. This was Josh's 4th or 5th time at my site- so he knows the way well and has even given some of the toughest parts of the journey nicknames: one hill is "Kilimanjaro" another is "Mt. Meru" etc. Obviously not since we are in the highlands and not up north, but still some pretty extreme hills. The first things Margaret says to me when she gets to my house huffing and puffing is "I need a cigarette".
I try to have warm bucket baths ready for all of them when they arrive. We have a great time- mostly just talking and eating. A few of us are on the 1-2 meal a day diet, so when we get together we really eat. Those of us new ones used to make fun of the PCVs that would come help during training because they would all be really skinny, but then when food was available would stack their plates high and go back for seconds. We wondered where they put all that food, now we understand a little better the situation when you are at site. But this weekend we ate well. We made hummus, muffins, burritos, popcorn, cake, hot chocolate, coffee, etc. But Tanzanian style American cooking takes forever! Example: I say we made burritos. This did not consist in pulling tortillas out of the fridge and opening a can of refried beans. It means we pulled out the flour, the salt, the oil- lit the charcoal and rolled the tortilla dough out one by one with a nalgene bottle and cooked them each over the fire individually. And that is even before we get started with any fillings....
It was great to have people around to play hostess for. However, I was not a very good one as I only own two spoons and one fork- so one of us had to eat Tanzanian style at every meal. At night we built a fire and played cards. It was nice to not go to bed at 8 pm and still be having a good time around 11. But having company and then having them leave is even more lonely, so I am back to bed at 8.
I am getting excited for some of the tentative holiday plans I have coming up. Everything here is changeable since travel, weather, people are fairly unplanned here. But nice to look forward to some ideas that have been put out there by friends. If any of them don't work out I will try to just hang out with Zummi and Adina on the farm. Halloween, one of my favorite holidays- hoping to head to Iringa town. There are a lot of PCVs in this area and good food/Christmas shopping. Thanksgiving- this will be the first one I can remember not going to my grandparents house in Southern Oregon. So I am hoping that viewing the snow covered peaks of Kilimanjaro will be a good distraction. There is a PCV up there outside of Moshi who I don't know- but is a friend of Josh's who is hosting a gathering. I would really like to see this part of Northern Tanzania. Christmas- my friend, Greta, in my region is going to host a party at her site. New Years- there is supposed to be this amazing beach outside of Dar called Kipepeo (Butterfly) Beach. There are thatched roof huts along the beach at a reasonably priced resort we are hoping to stay in. So all in all looking forward to these trips is making time pass faster.
This weekend I stayed at my site- but my closest PCV neighbors came to spend the weekend with me. Josh- who I have gotten to know really well since staying with him during my early site panic and hanging out with him on weekends in town or at one of our sites- he has helped me dig a garden and fix my house up a bit. Also coming for the weekend was Margaret- who is from my group and was my room mate when we first arrived in country. She is 22 and from Michigan. Teresa- also from my group, who is 27 and from Colorado. When I say they are my closest neighbors "close" is sort of an overstatement. They are all within tough biking distance. Over rough back roads- they can each make it within a day, biking from various directions, I am sort of centrally located. This was Josh's 4th or 5th time at my site- so he knows the way well and has even given some of the toughest parts of the journey nicknames: one hill is "Kilimanjaro" another is "Mt. Meru" etc. Obviously not since we are in the highlands and not up north, but still some pretty extreme hills. The first things Margaret says to me when she gets to my house huffing and puffing is "I need a cigarette".
I try to have warm bucket baths ready for all of them when they arrive. We have a great time- mostly just talking and eating. A few of us are on the 1-2 meal a day diet, so when we get together we really eat. Those of us new ones used to make fun of the PCVs that would come help during training because they would all be really skinny, but then when food was available would stack their plates high and go back for seconds. We wondered where they put all that food, now we understand a little better the situation when you are at site. But this weekend we ate well. We made hummus, muffins, burritos, popcorn, cake, hot chocolate, coffee, etc. But Tanzanian style American cooking takes forever! Example: I say we made burritos. This did not consist in pulling tortillas out of the fridge and opening a can of refried beans. It means we pulled out the flour, the salt, the oil- lit the charcoal and rolled the tortilla dough out one by one with a nalgene bottle and cooked them each over the fire individually. And that is even before we get started with any fillings....
It was great to have people around to play hostess for. However, I was not a very good one as I only own two spoons and one fork- so one of us had to eat Tanzanian style at every meal. At night we built a fire and played cards. It was nice to not go to bed at 8 pm and still be having a good time around 11. But having company and then having them leave is even more lonely, so I am back to bed at 8.
I am getting excited for some of the tentative holiday plans I have coming up. Everything here is changeable since travel, weather, people are fairly unplanned here. But nice to look forward to some ideas that have been put out there by friends. If any of them don't work out I will try to just hang out with Zummi and Adina on the farm. Halloween, one of my favorite holidays- hoping to head to Iringa town. There are a lot of PCVs in this area and good food/Christmas shopping. Thanksgiving- this will be the first one I can remember not going to my grandparents house in Southern Oregon. So I am hoping that viewing the snow covered peaks of Kilimanjaro will be a good distraction. There is a PCV up there outside of Moshi who I don't know- but is a friend of Josh's who is hosting a gathering. I would really like to see this part of Northern Tanzania. Christmas- my friend, Greta, in my region is going to host a party at her site. New Years- there is supposed to be this amazing beach outside of Dar called Kipepeo (Butterfly) Beach. There are thatched roof huts along the beach at a reasonably priced resort we are hoping to stay in. So all in all looking forward to these trips is making time pass faster.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Rainy Season Begins
New Livingroom Furniture complete with Safari bottle candle holder
Tanzanian Furniture is not complete without doilies
Barack, my Gecko, hanging out on his fav windowFirst of all I would like to say Congratulations to My friend, (and Reed's Sister) Kari, who gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. Welcome Denver, and Congrats Kari and Boyd!
October 8, 2008
Last night I would say that the rainy season officially began. I heard that one day it would start raining and then continue every day after. It is a different type of rain though- you can set your watch to it, as it rains at the same time every day. (I wonder if the chickens mind that they are no longer the time keepers?) In Oregon- arguably a state that gets more rain than any other- we joke about how you need about 18 speeds for your windshield wipers to deal with all sorts of types of rain. In Tanzania, there is just one type: hard. I hadn't seen rain here before. I had heard that roads would be impassable and we learned permiculture during training so that we could channel the large amount of water that would eventually be running through our gardens. I must admit, I had a hard time picturing these scenes while being surrounded in dust.
But last night- the rain pounded on the tin roof and it drowned out every other sound- the sound was like what it must be like to drown in the ocean: waves crashing overhead. I built a fire and heated water for tea and read my book. The wind blew outside and the rain fell and it felt good. It felt like home. It is funny- joining the Peace Corps most people see as sort of a selfless act- it is only those who are serving who realize how selfish we are. Being here is maybe the most selfish I have ever been. When I email people I feel like I only talk about myself, when they call me I really only discuss what I have been doing, how hard my life is, blah, blah, blah. Sometimes I feel like this person was born four months ago, in an adult body with no past. But then something will pull me back and remind me that there was life before Africa- that I have faced other struggles. It is amazing how used to anything a person can get. There are still times I have this revelation, "Oh, I know- I will just heat this up in the microwave-" Only a second later to realize- "Microwave? What am I talking about? I don't even have electricity or running water much less modern appliances. Did I really ever put anything in a microwave? Was life really ever that easy?" I try to forget things before Africa- generally it is just easier to accept what life here offers. But last night I was taken home- it was the rain.
Back in Oregon, I remembered it is actually October, one of my favorite months. The fire I had built was no longer there- I hadn't built it. My dad had. I could see him adding wood to our large stone fireplace at our Pattulo house, while singing "Bad Moon Rising." I am sitting on the couch petting my white cat, Angel Baby. Maybe I am 17 or so and still in high school, but not really because Reed and Erik are there drinking apple cider at the table with my sisters. My mom is in the kitchen making pickles. I can hear the jars clinking and smell the dill. My brothers are running up and down the hallway yelling. They are already in their Halloween costumes, even though they will be made to eat "real food" before we set out for trick-or-treating. The fire crackles and the rain pounds and I tell myself- "Come away from here". And there I am- sitting in my living room under the ocean- just me and my gecko, Baraka, on the "dark continent". And I am reminded of a few lines from an Ani DiFranco song that applies more and more often to my life here: " When I look around, I think this is good enough, and I try to laugh at whatever life brings. When I look down, I just miss all the good stuff. When I look up, I just trip over things." So I look forward.
(Side Note: I have a gecko. I don't really own him- he owns himself. He lives on one window in my house. He is there everyday- at first we would surprise each other when I flung open the curtins- now I expect him. He is tiny, about 2 inches long and he sings in the evening. He is named partly for our furture president: Barack comes from the Kiswahili name Baraka a common male name in this part of Africa meaning: lucky- let us hope so for Obama's sake! At first I was worried he was stuck inside, I expressed this concern to Josh, who reminded me that we can see the sky through my roof and feel the wind through my windows- Baraka is hardly trapped.)
The next day I asked Juster to be my counterpart. I don't know why I was so nervous, I felt like I was proposing. She tells me all the time that she loves me and we are best friends. She feeds me and visits me- but I was still afraid she would say no. Maybe first I should explain what being a counterpart is. Each PCV is supposed to pick a Tanzanian in their village who we trust, who will help us on our projects and go with us to a two week long conference in January. Basically it is supposed to be our Tanzanian helper. The first project we are to do with them is to do a Village Situation Analysis, which involves interviewing our villagers in-depth and then writing up a report with our recommendations for what we can help with. The report is written in English and Kiswahili and then presented by us at the conference. I need Juster for this- she is honest, sweet and speaks English. It is not that I can't ask the villagers the questions, but what if I can't understand their answers? I feared Juster would be too busy, wouldn't want to help- it is a lot of work with nothing in it for her. But I shouldn't have been worried. She was so flattered. She smiled at me, laughed and promised to do the best she could for me. So we begin work.
October 8, 2008
Last night I would say that the rainy season officially began. I heard that one day it would start raining and then continue every day after. It is a different type of rain though- you can set your watch to it, as it rains at the same time every day. (I wonder if the chickens mind that they are no longer the time keepers?) In Oregon- arguably a state that gets more rain than any other- we joke about how you need about 18 speeds for your windshield wipers to deal with all sorts of types of rain. In Tanzania, there is just one type: hard. I hadn't seen rain here before. I had heard that roads would be impassable and we learned permiculture during training so that we could channel the large amount of water that would eventually be running through our gardens. I must admit, I had a hard time picturing these scenes while being surrounded in dust.
But last night- the rain pounded on the tin roof and it drowned out every other sound- the sound was like what it must be like to drown in the ocean: waves crashing overhead. I built a fire and heated water for tea and read my book. The wind blew outside and the rain fell and it felt good. It felt like home. It is funny- joining the Peace Corps most people see as sort of a selfless act- it is only those who are serving who realize how selfish we are. Being here is maybe the most selfish I have ever been. When I email people I feel like I only talk about myself, when they call me I really only discuss what I have been doing, how hard my life is, blah, blah, blah. Sometimes I feel like this person was born four months ago, in an adult body with no past. But then something will pull me back and remind me that there was life before Africa- that I have faced other struggles. It is amazing how used to anything a person can get. There are still times I have this revelation, "Oh, I know- I will just heat this up in the microwave-" Only a second later to realize- "Microwave? What am I talking about? I don't even have electricity or running water much less modern appliances. Did I really ever put anything in a microwave? Was life really ever that easy?" I try to forget things before Africa- generally it is just easier to accept what life here offers. But last night I was taken home- it was the rain.
Back in Oregon, I remembered it is actually October, one of my favorite months. The fire I had built was no longer there- I hadn't built it. My dad had. I could see him adding wood to our large stone fireplace at our Pattulo house, while singing "Bad Moon Rising." I am sitting on the couch petting my white cat, Angel Baby. Maybe I am 17 or so and still in high school, but not really because Reed and Erik are there drinking apple cider at the table with my sisters. My mom is in the kitchen making pickles. I can hear the jars clinking and smell the dill. My brothers are running up and down the hallway yelling. They are already in their Halloween costumes, even though they will be made to eat "real food" before we set out for trick-or-treating. The fire crackles and the rain pounds and I tell myself- "Come away from here". And there I am- sitting in my living room under the ocean- just me and my gecko, Baraka, on the "dark continent". And I am reminded of a few lines from an Ani DiFranco song that applies more and more often to my life here: " When I look around, I think this is good enough, and I try to laugh at whatever life brings. When I look down, I just miss all the good stuff. When I look up, I just trip over things." So I look forward.
(Side Note: I have a gecko. I don't really own him- he owns himself. He lives on one window in my house. He is there everyday- at first we would surprise each other when I flung open the curtins- now I expect him. He is tiny, about 2 inches long and he sings in the evening. He is named partly for our furture president: Barack comes from the Kiswahili name Baraka a common male name in this part of Africa meaning: lucky- let us hope so for Obama's sake! At first I was worried he was stuck inside, I expressed this concern to Josh, who reminded me that we can see the sky through my roof and feel the wind through my windows- Baraka is hardly trapped.)
The next day I asked Juster to be my counterpart. I don't know why I was so nervous, I felt like I was proposing. She tells me all the time that she loves me and we are best friends. She feeds me and visits me- but I was still afraid she would say no. Maybe first I should explain what being a counterpart is. Each PCV is supposed to pick a Tanzanian in their village who we trust, who will help us on our projects and go with us to a two week long conference in January. Basically it is supposed to be our Tanzanian helper. The first project we are to do with them is to do a Village Situation Analysis, which involves interviewing our villagers in-depth and then writing up a report with our recommendations for what we can help with. The report is written in English and Kiswahili and then presented by us at the conference. I need Juster for this- she is honest, sweet and speaks English. It is not that I can't ask the villagers the questions, but what if I can't understand their answers? I feared Juster would be too busy, wouldn't want to help- it is a lot of work with nothing in it for her. But I shouldn't have been worried. She was so flattered. She smiled at me, laughed and promised to do the best she could for me. So we begin work.
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