A Tanzanian Christmas

December 28, 2009

Hope you all had a wonderful holiday.  Christmas here in Mkuu was quiet but nice.  I was supposed to meet Cheryl at the Posta in Mkuu on Christmas Eve day.  As I was walking along the road, I saw a real broom and a toilet bowl brush hanging in front of a shop.  I stopped to inquire about the price: 3000 shilingi ($3) for the broom and 2500 shilingi ($2.50) for the brush.  I really wanted them, especially the toilet bowl brush, and I tried to punguza the price.  She came down 500 shilingi but I still thought I would shop around.  After all, I am a Tanzanian teacher now.  I make about $250 a month.  So I kept walking, and then I saw some doilies displayed on a rack outside a house.  Putting doilies on your sitting room furniture is common here in Tanzania, and I had told Cheryl during training that I would buy her doilies for her home when we got to site.  I saw the perfect ones, so I said "hodi, hodi!"  A woman came out and I asked her how much.  She told me 15,000 shilingi. Wow!  But finally I understood that the price was actually for 5 doilies.  I said ok, and it made her day.  She told me to come back tomorrow to get them.  I said I was not able to come back the next day, so she said to come the day after tomorrow.  I tried to explain that I needed them for a gift for my friend for Christmas day, and after a struggle, we broke through the language barrier, and she understood.  She invited me inside, muddy shoes and all, and she asked a child to go get a second doilie from a nearby home.  She said it would take 3 minutes.  Well, I sat for a while and watched her sew.  My friend Cheryl called and asked where I was.  I explained to the lady that I really needed to go meet my friend, so she sent another child to find the first one.  Meanwhile, the first one came back, and the lady showed me the two doilies that were ready.  I saw, then, that they really were not doilies at all.  They were covers for small decorator pillows.  I did not have the heart to tell the woman that I no longer wanted them, so Cheryl would get two doilies/pillow covers plus four cans of coke light for Christmas.  I would have to pick up the other three next time I come to town.

I found Cheryl and we had a busy day.  We shopped at the market for fruits and vegetables for Christmas dinner, had lunch at the hotel in town, visited a friend for chai (tea), checked e-mail at the internet cafe at the hospital, and then caught a bus back to my home.  All day it had been raining off and on.  Just before we got to my place, the bus came to a stop.  Several buses and trucks ahead of us were stuck in the mud on the hills and sharp turns.  We sat for awhile.  Cheryl handed out candy canes to the children.  Finally, like an impatient American, I started asking how long it would be.  I asked, in Kiswahili, whether it would be better for us to get out and walk or to sit tight and wait for traffic to clear.  (The road was very slippery and muddy).  I got conflicting responses, but before I was forced to make a decision, the bus began to move.

When we got back to my place there was electricity but no water, so Cheryl and I took my buckets and walked up to the well by the church.  I saw a nun and asked her what time the service was that night.  She said 11 pm.  Then with no girls to help us, we filled the buckets and began to walk home.  A full bucket of water is heavy and difficult to carry without spilling, but I picked mine up and put it on my head.  I was able to carry it almost all the way home (using my hands to steady it; I am not that good).  However, I thought the little plastic nub on the bottom of the bucket was going to drill a hole in my skull, and my neck did feel at least a couple of inches shorter.  But now I can honestly tell my students that I carried my water on my head.

I made an omelet and fried bread for dinner.  I went out and found an evergreen branch and stuck it in an empty toilet paper roll.  Then I cut red, white, and green strips of cellophane from things I found in my trash bag and I tied them on my tree.  I wrapped my kanga, the one that says "In every matter give thanks to God" around the bottom and placed my ipod, with Elizabeth's Aeropostale speakers attached, underneath the tree.  It was beautiful!  Reminded me of Charlie Brown's Christmas and Linus's little tree.  Cheryl and I sat in the sitting room, listening to Christmas carols and talking, until it was time for me to go to church.

I left the house shortly after 10 pm, because I had to walk in the dark and I thought that the church might be crowded.  I entered through the side door in the front and everyone in the church turned to stare at me.  I admit I had to look unusual, a mzungu (white person) dressed like Mama Afrika walking into their church on a dark, rainy, Christmas Eve night.  The church was full, so I kept walking toward the back, praying that I would find an empty seat in the women's section.  Finally I saw one and asked the woman sitting there if it was ok to join her.  She said "karibu" (welcome) and I dived into the seat.  I quickly learned why the seat was empty.  There was no support under that plank, and it sagged precariously as I sat down.  Luckily it did not break and at least I was no longer in the spotlight. 

The service was nice.  I recognized one song and was able to sing it, but really I did not understand much more.  I sat and stood and clapped and laughed when others did.  I tried to copy what they were singing but was probably saying the words all wrong.  But it was ok.  It felt like Christmas.  The sanctuary had been decorated in fragrant greens and glittering garland.  Right before the second collection, I began to feel very tired.  I looked at my watch and was amazed that it was 1:30 am!  Soon after mass ended, and we all pushed and shoved our way out the door (that is how we do it in Tanzania).  I walked home in the dark, with my flashlight, following a long stream of people.  I arrived home at 2:00 am and made sure that Santa left Cheryl's presents under the tree.  Then I went to bed and listened to the rain beating on the roof.

I got up the next morning and gave the neighbor children a ball that I had bought for them in Moshi.  I also asked one of the children if he would show me where to by meat for my pilau.  Cheryl and I followed him through the mud to the butcher shop (do not think Kroger or Hannaford).  There was a line, but I wrestled through without letting too many people cut in front of me.  When I got to the counter, the man asked me how much meat I wanted.  I said "sijui" (I don't know) and then explained how I was making pilau for two people. They all laughed, and a lady behind me told my how much to buy.  I really prefer to buy my meat neatly packaged, with no heads of the donor staring at me from a nearby hook.  I also could not imagine why people were buying meat parts and hide with fur attached.  I wonder if they eat it.  (Found out later that it is stomach, not fur).  However, the butcher was kind to the wazungu and gave us mostly red meat. Overcome by the experience, I told Cheryl on the way home that I was now a vegetarian, and at that moment I meant it. But the pilau was delicious and the meat was very good! 

Christmas was very rainy but we were able to take a walk.  After that, I did laundry while Cheryl rested.  I also talked to my kids and my family on the phone.  It was a simple, quiet Christma,s and I had plenty of time to think about those I care about most: my God, my family, and my friends.

Merry Christmas