Shepherding

February 9, 2010

On my many long bus rides back and forth between Moshi and Mkuu, I often see cattle and goats grazing in the fields in the lowlands.  Usually there is someone, maybe an adult, sometimes a tall Masai in a colorful robe, but often a child, watching over the flock.  I wonder what it would be like to be a shepherd and to sit there all day watching the animals eat, making sure they don't stray onto the road or into someone's field.  I probably would get distracted, and my goats would be like the ones I saw walking down the middle of the main street in Moshi one morning.  I saw them walking out of the city later that day, but this time they were using the sidewalk.  Maybe even goats get bored out there in the fields all day.  I really wonder, however, what the children do all day.  Do they sing, play games, build forts?  Do they dream about their future, and if they do, how big are their dreams? 

       

I have also done a lot of thinking about boundaries lately, personal boundaries that is.  In America, if I were riding on a bus and the young lady next to me fell asleep, I would probably turn and look out the window or continue with my own activities.  Here in Tanzania, I move closer to her so that her bobbing head has a place to rest.  After all, the ride is very bumpy, the bus is very crowded, and life is tough.  If I see a mother struggling to hold two children on her lap, I offer to hold one.  The little things are so much more important here, so much easier to see, and so much easier to do.  It is not that I did not notice the small things in America, but sometimes it felt so awkward to do anything about them. 

Boundaries.  Walls.  I can feel my boundaries shifting.  I eat meat with fat and other unrecognizable parts.  I eat beans and ugali or beans and rice everyday for lunch, and it still tastes good.  I wear the same clothes for more than one day in a row.  I don't complain when the power goes out and no water comes out of the tap.  I just get my kaanga and my bucket and walk to the well.  I am getting good at carrying water on my head, but if my students see me, they usually insist that they carry it for me.  They said my skin is too soft or my hair is too slippery or something like that.  I cook over charcoal if I must.  For fun, I walk, do some sudoku, talk to the neighbors or read a book.  Last week I played soccer with some little girls in the field by my home.  It was fun, but we were soon joined by a lot of little boys and it quickly became a boys' game.  I will need to figure out how to prevent that.  Things that were important to me in America do not seem so important here.  Things that are important here, I never gave much thought to at home.

I probably noticed my biggest shift in boundaries last weekend at our form 6 graduation.  After the ceremony (I was on the decorations committee but the students did all the work.  You should see what they can do with a few bolts of fabric and some ribbon) we went to the dining hall for a feast.  I was a bit late, because I somehow became a guest of honor at a student's "tailgate" picnic and could not leave until I had had some cake.  Anyway, as usual, everyone turned and stared at me when I entered the hall.  I am just different, like a fish out of water.  A young teacher, Benedicti, came over and took me by the hand and led me to the serving line.  They had some good chicken, fat chicken, the kind that was given chemicals to make it extra fat.  I got my plate and the waiter sat me at the end of a full table.  I ate my food and observed the celebration. 

Tanzanian's do like their beer and local brews.  Many people tried to get me to drink some, but I politely declined.  When you are living alone in a foreign country, it is best to always keep your wits about you.  I made conversation with the people sitting near me, but I still felt like the center of attention.  The beer continued to flow (this is a school graduation and we are in the school dining hall) and several people asked me to dance.  I refused.  I could feel the walls around me.  I could not put myself in the spotlight.  However, after a while the crowd began to thin, and the secretary motioned to me to come out and dance.  My boundary shifted.  I said yes!  I went out there and danced with the Afrikan mamas and bibis.  The little night watchman (He is shorter than me) took off his ski cap and started dancing with me.  We had a great time and I was probably the only one dancing and not drinking. 

After awhile it began to get dark and I looked over at the window.  There were several of my students watching me.  I went out to greet them, and they were so amazed that I could dance (I really cannot dance, but here it is just easier to move to the music).  My students asked if they could have their picture taken with me.  After that, they walked me home.  I never would have danced in America.  I might have wanted to, but the boundaries would have prevented me.  What is it about Africa that lets you feel free?

Riding home on the bus yesterday I saw the silouettes of two men riding on the roof.  That boundary has not changed.  I still do not want to ride on top.  Thinking about boundaries and letting go of inhibitions made me think of a prayer that my friend Nora sent to me:

Saint Theresa's Prayer
May today there be peace within.
May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be..
May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith.
May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you.
May you be content knowing you are a child of God..
Let this presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing,
Dance, praise and love.
It is there for each and every one of us.   Amen.

Maybe here, being so close to God, I am giving my soul the freedom to sing, to dance, to praise, and to love.  Is this why God brought me here?