House Girl

April 6, 2010

I have just returned home to Mkuu after two weeks of training in Iringa and a week visiting my host family in Morogoro.  I had a good time visiting with fellow Americans and Tanzanians too, but it is nice to be home. 

I have mentioned before how much time it takes to do even a simple task in a developing country.  If you want to eat, you have to walk to the market, maybe through mud and rain, to buy your food.  You return home to light the fire (charcoal or wood), wash and prepare the food, and then cook the meal.  After eating there are always plenty of dishes to do.  Doing laundry means filling buckets (maybe heating water, maybe not) and washing and rinsing clothes by hand.  The clothes are then hung outside on the line if it is not raining or on the indoor line if it is.  There is a lot of menial work to do in Tanzania and so it is customary to employ a house girl.

I want to introduce you to a house girl that I recently met.  She is 10 years old and has completed standard 2 (2nd year of primary education and primary education is free in Tanzania) but she is now taking a "rest" from school.  I will just call her "house girl" because she could be any poor girl in this country, and as a house girl, she really does not have much identity.

Her day begins early before the sun comes up.  She lights the fire for morning chai and sweeps the yard.  She prepares breakfast, cleans the floors and helps the young children get ready for school.  As they go off to school laughing and talking with their friends, she remains behind to continue with her chores.  She is only 10.

Her mistress is really a kind person.  She bought her house girl a new pair of shoes and had a fundi make her a dress for the child to wear to church.  She also had one of her old dresses altered for house girl to wear as well. However, nothing house girl does ever seems to be right.  She does not greet people properly.  She does not prepare the food correctly or on time.  When she sees the other children playing and tries to join in (remember she is only 10) she is always interrupted by a call from her mistress to do another chore.  There seems to be little in her life to bring her hope and joy.

I realize that this is only my perspective because I live in a foreign world.  I know that life has more to offer.  House girl does not know. I have heard her in the kitchen washing dishes, cooking dinner, singing songs of praise to God.  I wonder what is she possibly thankful for?  She is resting from school!  What are her chances of becoming anything in life?  What will she become when she can no longer be a house "girl"? But when I listen to her singing, and I see her smiling as she works, I realize that maybe her life now as a house girl is much better than her life before. She has food to eat, clothes and shoes to wear, a bed to sleep in, a solid roof over her head.  She is no longer living in a mud hut that crumbles when the chickens peck the sides. Her stomach does not growl with hunger as she tries to fall asleep at night. 

However, I cannot keep my heart from breaking for her because I want her to go to school.  I want her to be able to play and to be a child.  I want her to have all that life can give.  She is only 10!  I hate it when she is chastised for doing something incorrectly that we would expect only someone much older to be able to do.  But I cannot give these things to her.  Here it is a different world, a much harder life.  Yes, her mistress seems harsh, but she is also poor and she knows this life.  She is training House Girl to survive in her world. We have the luxury of nurturing and pampering our children. The poor people in a developing country do not. I can give the child a smile, a piece of candy, a kind word, a memory, but I am beginning to realize that I cannot save the world.

Please say a prayer for house girls and boys all over the world.

Lucy

March 13, 2010

When I first arrived in Morogoro, my host family called me "Lucy".  I thought maybe they were just mispronouncing "Ruthie".  After about 2 weeks, we both discovered our mistake and we all had a good laugh.  Now, I have met a real "Lucy" and she did not make me laugh.  In fact, she made me think once more about dreams, opportunity, and hope.

Lucy is about 21 years old, a second year university student, the first in her family to attend.  Her parents are both primary school teachers and struggle to pay her university fees and school fees for her younger siblings.  Lucy is studying accounting and finance.  Her dream is to someday become a CPA.  Now she is doing field work in our district offices.

Lucy stopped by my home to greet me as I sat on the porch with the neighbor children.  While we were chatting, she told me that her heart "pinches" for her country.  She said that sometimes she asks God why  she had to be born in Tanzania where dreams die.  Lucy is a beautiful girl, so intelligent, already in university, why would she say that in Tanzania, dreams die?  Then she told me why.

Lucy believes that in order for a developing country to advance, the leaders must think more of the people than they do of themselves, but the people in her country, she says, are very selfish.  Most people are poor, but the few that are rich get richer.  People in high positions in almost every sector misappropriate money for themselves and for their families.  Good jobs are given to those who are connected to money, even if the recipient is not qualified.  The government promises money to poor university students, but then the money never comes.  Some students are not able to attend university because of the cost, even though they have passed their exams and have been accepted.  There are some who sell their name (space) to rich kids who have not qualified.  Other students cut back on food (maybe eating only one or two pieces of fruit each day) and lodging.  Even in university, you are not free from struggles, especially the girls.  If a professor takes an interest in you, he may ask you for other favors.  To refuse usually results in failing marks, inability to obtain field work, or even after completing your studies, disqualification from obtaining your degree.  To agree may result in pregnancy, disease, even death from AIDS.  During her field work, the district treasurer gave her group his books and told them to make them balance.  How do you balance books when 100000s of shilingis are missing?  She hates selfishness, corruption, and deceit, but now she feels she is forced to be a part of it.  Who do you tell?  If you speak up, your dreams are dead.  Without an education, Lucy says you are worth nothing at all.  With an education, she fears who she might be.  Hope and opportunity.  What is life when hope dies?  Imagine a life with no open doors.

If I had had the money, I would have given Lucy the money for her tuition.  But I did not have it then, so all I could do was wipe my tears and say a prayer for her.  There is much pain and sadness here in Tanzania.

How blessed we are in America where our sons and daughters are able to dream dreams and believe that one day they may come true.  Maybe America is the land of hope and opportunity.  Please say a prayer for Lucy tonight.

Distractions

February 25, 2010

Form V's took their final exams this week and then left for a month-long break.  That meant invigilating (proctoring) exams again.  This time, I made sure that they all had pencils and many used them as straight edgse as well.  I did not proctor exams needing calculators, and the students used leftover national exam answer booklets to write their responses in.  The wind was not blowing through the broken windows, and the rain was not dripping through the roof, so there really was not much to do, other than to think.

Have you ever experienced a moment of confusion, like the feeling you get when you fall asleep in the afternoon and then wake up thinking that it is morning and that you are late for work?  That sudden jolt?  That moment of disorientation when you wonder, where am I?  This can't be real!  I have felt this way many times.  In fact I wrote a poem about it many years ago, and it has seemed to fit every phase of my life:

At times I seem to step out of myself
And I see a strange woman
Living a life I never imagined.
But I do not know her
Then they call her by my name
And she turns and I am surprised to see
That she is me!

I have become reacquainted with this feeling here in Tanzania.  Standing in the classroom watching the students writing so furiously, I thought about how important a single test grade is to their future education. I thought about how much American students take their education for granted.  The disparity was so overwhelming that I felt like this could not be real.  I looked out the window and saw a parade of students coming up the hill carrying big sacks of flour.  (Deliveries are made to the shop by the road.  Students carry them to the school).  I looked out the back window to see the progress on the new classroom building.  There was a group of students shoveling dirt/sand into empty sacks and carrying them away on their heads.  Another group was mixing cement.  This is all during the school day.  What about learning?  Why were they not in the classroom?  Was this punishment?  Or was this reward?  Probably neither, it is just part of an ordinary school day.  Students do all of the work at school, cleaning, chopping grass with long blades, picking up trash, sweeping classrooms, carrying heavy loads. It seems odd to me, but that is life in a developing country.  Then I think about our own traditional school calendar.  Wasn't that designed to give the students time to work in the fields and on the farms?

Each exam is three hours long and there is no place to sit, so I look for distractions.  The first that I found was a cute little baby lizard, with a little baby face and a little lizard tail.  He was running across the floor in the front of the room straight towards me.  Oh no!  I am the only thing in the front of the room.  What if he thinks I am a tree or something and runs up my leg.  That would be awkward.  So I tried to distract him without being a distraction myself.  However, I only ended up diverting him toward the students!  I did not want someone to unknowingly step on him, so I had to detour him again.  My efforts were successful, and I had him turned around, and then I saw the spider, bigger than the lizard!  I turned my attention to it until I was sure that it had crawled up the wall.  Then when I looked for my lizard again, he was gone!  See, you do not want me to tend your goats.  I cannot even look after a small lizard in a classroom. (I checked thoroughly after all the students had left the room and I did not see any signs of the lizard, so I believe he found his way out safely).

After losing the lizard, I noticed another group of students come out to the school yard, followed by a teacher with a stick and a teacher with a small board.  The students were told to squat and put their hands on their hips and bounce up and down.  This went on for about five minutes while the teachers chatted (they are both nice people) and occasionally smacked students who were not doing the exercise correctly.  I was relieved when I saw all the students stand.  I thought it was over, but no, now they all squatted in a chair pose and held that for about five minutes.  Then the boys began doing push ups while the girls resumed the original squat and bounce pose.  When the punishment truly ended, the students lined up for their two smacks with the stick or the board, and then they returned to the classroom.

Corporal punishment is part of the culture here.  Students and parents expect it.  Teachers are expected to administer it.  It is their life.  However, for me, it was one of those "where am I?" experiences.  "This cannot be real!"  I especially felt this way when I saw students called before the whole morning assembly for a public beating.  They were to be an example to others not to get caught drinking on school grounds.  After the beating, the students were suspended for three weeks.  Another morning when I arrived at school, there were some small girls kneeling on the staff room floor.  A teacher told them to hold out their hands, and then he smacked them so hard that the stick broke.  The girls then held their hands in the air and wiggled their fingers back and forth and tried hard not to cry.  They may be tough, but I could not help the tears in my eyes.  Students are hit for misbehaving, for being tardy, and for failing tests!  Sometimes they are even hit for things they did not do. How different it is from our schools.

Trash

February 13, 2010

Have you ever thought about trash?  Like what to do with it or where it goes after you throw it away?  I bet my friend Laura, an environmental science teacher, has thought about trash, but really the only thought I ever gave it was, "Did I remember to roll the cart out to the curb?  Tomorrow is trash day." Here in Tanzania, I think about trash quite a bit.  You see, there are no trucks or men who come to your home to take it away.  There is no disposal service at all.  Fortunately, I do not accumulate a lot of trash, maybe a grocery bag a month, because most of my food is fresh from the market.  To dispose of the organic waste, I just stand on my back porch and fling the food scraps into the corn field.  (The chickens next door really like this. One time I even caught the rooster in my doorway looking to see if I had any more food in the kitchen).  The paper trash, I sometimes burn, but it usually takes me at least a half box of matches to get the fire started, unless I use my precious kerosene.  I try to avoid burning plastic, because I still remember the horrible smell of burning plastic bottles in the pit outside my window when I was staying in Dar es Salaam.  Not pleasant!  Little Maria's solution is to just throw trash on the ground.  Another Peace Corps trainee did this when we were returning to Morogoro from Mikumi Park.  She threw her banana peel out the window of our bus and hit a man riding a bicycle!  Pole!  Then she tossed out her soda can as well, and she is American!  But what do you do with it?  Plastics have come to developing countries before they have a way to deal with them. I have been taking the rest of my trash to Moshi and have been putting it in the trash cans along the street.  I thought if they have trash cans, maybe they have trash service and a sanitary landfill or something like that.  However, last week, as we were pulling into the bus stand, I saw a big pile of trash in the bushes.  People, even little children, were picking through it!  What to do about trash?

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?

Something About Maria

January 21, 2010

Just had a nice visit with my Tanzanian family.  Victoria, Diana, and little Maria came for a 4 day weekend.  Cheryl and I met them in Moshi.  Diana gave me such a big hug I could barely breathe. (That is not a common Tanzanian greeting).  Victoria had tears in her eyes.  But it was little Maria calling "Ruti!  Ruti!" that made my day.  She barely left my side the entire weekend.  It was a wonderful weekend but not without event. 

We caught the last bus of the evening back to Mkuu.  That may have been poor planning.  The bus broke down in the dark out in the middle of no where.  Alternator problem.  Most passengers got off to wait, but there was a very large pig running around outside, so we decided to stay on the bus while several men worked on the engine.  Eventually they fixed it, but it was a bit unnerving to be sitting on a big bus as it was being pushed down a hill in hopes of clutch starting it.  The trip was long and bumpy, but Maria managed to fall asleep on my lap.  I was not expecting to return so late, so when we finally made it to my stop, I had to use my phone as a torch to lead my visitors home through the dark.

My Kiswahili must be improving, because I was able to have a meaningful conversation with Victoria during her visit.  I have learned much more about her family.  Her stories touched my heart and, once again, caused me to contemplate the reason I am here.  I truly believe that I am here to do God's work.  I just don't always know how I am supposed to do it.  I try hard to keep my eyes open and to listen with my heart so that I will know what God wants me to do.  I remind myself to suppress my urge to control things and to just let His plan unfold.  However, doing this is not easy.  I have many sleepless nights.  Sometimes I wonder if I will ever be able to leave this place, and sometimes I wonder how long I can bear to stay.

"Shida kubwa, hapa Tanzania!"  Too many children without parents, mothers without fathers, fathers without mothers, grandmothers with young children to raise and no money.  There is so much pain.  I can feel it.  I can see it.  Every day I am asked for money, often by complete strangers.  Children will shout as I walk by, "Mzungu, give us some money!"  When young children say this, I usually stop and explain that I am just a Tanzanian teacher and I really have little money.  This little bit of attention seems to satisfy them, because the next time they shout, "Good morning teacha!  How are you?"  (It may be 6:00 pm, but this is progress).  I try not to let their asking for money bother me too much.  I am a foreigner, and to poor Tanzanians, I am rich.  And indeed, I probably am.  "To those who much has been given, much will be expected in return."  What is expected of me while I am here?  What is expected of Americans?  I do not know the answer, but I think that education is a key.  I cannot support the whole country on my salary, but maybe I can help a few,

Diana is here to be Cheryl's house girl, but more importantly, she is here to go to school.  Cheryl's church is sponsoring her to go to a private school in a nearby town.  She did not pass her entrance exams to go to an O-level government school, and because her family is poor, her education had essentially ended at the age of  14.  She will live with Cheryl but maybe on the weekends she will go to church with me.  At last I may be able to understand what is being said. 

Diana, such an angel, she has given me so much.  Do you remember the footwashing story in the Bible?  One day in Morogoro, Diana was teaching me how to wash my clothes in a bucket outside.  After finishing the clothes, she took my flip flops and dunked them in the dirty water.  Then she started washing and scrubbing my feet.  I was so surprised and humbled that all I could say was "thank you."  Diana, a fatherless child, the oldest of three.  She was sent by her mother to live with Victoria because her mother could not afford to feed her.  Even now, to my eyes, she looks thin and small for her age, but Victoria told me that she has gained quite a bit of weight since she first arrived.  It hurts my heart to think of Diana having no food to eat.  But now God has given her this opportunity.  She is part of His plan.  I hopes she understands the magnitude of this gift.  I will do my best to help her succeed.

Maria!  There really is something about Maria!  She makes complete strangers stop and smile.  She just turned 5 last week, and she is such a bright child.  Remember, she taught me how to wash rice in Morogoro.  She notices everything.  She insisted that I wipe my hand on my skirt after shaking hands with a certain lady in the market.  She corrects my Kiswahili grammar and pronunciation.  She instructs me to write my numbers and letters on paper, and then she grades them.  However, she always gives me a "very gud!"  We have read "Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What do you See?" over and over.  As I read to her, she insisted that I point to each word.  Now she can recite it with her Tanzanian accent in the same sing song voice that I had used.  When reading the book "I Love You Through and Through," she likes to point to the pictures and and explain in Kiswahili exactly what she thinks is going on.  She likes to snuggle up on my lap and listen to my heart beat.  It often puts her to sleep. 

 Poor motherless Maria!  Abandoned by her real mother when she was very small.  Her father turned to his mother Victoria and younger sister Aggie to help him raise his child.  Beautiful Maria!  What is her dream?  Why to go to school of course!  Everyday she goes to church with Victoria, and she sees the other children going to school.  She told Bibi to let her go too, but Victoria had to tell her that there was no money for school.  (Victoria only earns 20000 shiling a month working at the church.  That is less than $20).  The school costs 100000 shilingi a year.  When Victoria told me that, I did not respond immediately.  I wanted to listen for God's reply.  On Monday we were in Mkuu, and Diana was getting her head shaved for school ( a requirement here in Tanzania).  Maria insisted that she have her little plaits shaved off too.  I had already given her a little paper notebook, a pack of pencils, some twist up crayons, and my only pencil sharpener.  While buying a school bag for Diana, I saw a cute little back pack, just Maria's size.  I bought it for her along with a new dress.  She was so excited!  God had given me my answer.  When we returned home, I gave Victoria the money for Maria to go to school.  Maria immediately packed her bag, and I gave her the books that she loved so much.  She told Bibi that as soon as they arrived in Morogoro, Bibi was to take her right to school. It would not even matter if she were late.  Maria!

Victoria, my Tanzanian sister. I can see and feel her pain.  I can see the worry in her face.  Mama mkubwa, the oldest sister, so many others dead.  When there are problems in the family, especially with children, they come to her.  She wonders what she can do.  How can she care for them?  She lives in the house of a relative.  Aggie gives her money.  Maria's father pays the electric bill.  Someone else pays for the water.  Victoria has purchased a plot of land for a house but wonders if she will ever be able to afford to build.  She comes to visit me and what does she do, she cooks and cleans.  She brought me fruit, dried salted fish (so good I even considered eating the head, but only for a moment), and a bag full of cooked leaves.  I asked her what I could buy for her, and all she wanted was a prayer book that she saw at my church.  We could not find it in the book store in Mkuu, so I bought her another one instead.  Yesterday I talked to the nun in charge and she promised to help me find it in Moshi.  I will bring it to Victoria when I go to Morogoro next time.  Church and her God are her solace.  With pain so deep, there is little that I can do.  Maybe helping Diana and Maria has lessened her load and allowed her to see the hand of God. My sister Victoria, her burden is heavy. May she never lose her hope.

This is my Tanzanian family, but still Aggie is on my mind

A Plan Unfolds

January 12, 2010

It is amazing to see God at work and watch His plan unfold.  Cheryl said awhile back that she needed a house girl to help her with chores around the house.  Her house is up a steep mountain and more remote than mine.  She has no electricity and carrying food and other supplies up the hill is difficult.  Originally I told her to talk to her caretaker and see if he knew of anyone that could help.  Shortly after that, I had a text from Victoria.  Diana did not pass her national exams, and she was not chosen to go to a government secondary school.  Essentially her education had ended after grade 7.  She is 14 years old.  Victoria was trying to think of a plan for her and asked if I had any ideas.  Cheryl and I talked to some people and discovered that although it was not possible to send Diana to a government school, we could get her into a private school.  Our Tanzanian friend, Francis, was good friends with the headmaster at a private school near Cheryl's house.  He and Cheryl went there to speak to the headmaster, and yes, Diana could start there immediately.  School fees are only about 300000 shilingi a year (about $300).  We communicated with Victoria, Diana's guardian, with Francis translating, to make sure we understood everything properly.  Diana is coming to live with Cheryl to help with the household chores.  In turn, Cheryl will tutor her and send her to school.  What a wonderful opportunity for Diana!  

And I am extra happy because I will have Victoria staying with me for a few days. I have missed my Morogoro family.  Today I bought two more pillows and an extra blanket.  I just hope the rains ease up so they can get here safely.  Cheryl and I are going to Moshi on Friday to meet them.  Meanwhile I will practice making ugali or maybe even banana stew.