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.

Transportation

January 9, 2010

I am in Moshi today and thought I would write the next installment to my book Life in Tanzania.  Being in the midst of the rainy season has given me lots of reasons to think about transportation.  In America, we really take the availability of transportation for granted.  Suppose you did not have a car?  How would you get where you wanted to go?  How would you go shopping and carry your groceries home, especially if you had to buy enough to feed a large family?

Here in Tanzania, transportation is a problem.  The most reliable method of transport is to walk.  Many people walk long distances, often carrying heavy loads on their heads.  How else would you carry your things?  However, after choting a bucket of water on my head less than half a mile to my home, I felt like I had finished a marathon.  I was exhausted.  Now that it rains, rather pours, every day, and the roads are very muddy and slippery, I usually prefer to walk to town.  I feel safer that way.

I have noticed that some people have bicycles, and they are able to ride them with all kinds of loads: sacks of charcoal or flour, piles of straw, huge branches full of bananas, long poles of sugarcane, and maybe even another passenger.  If the load is too big, the bike is pushed.  Wheeling a load on a bike is probably easier than carrying it on your head.  Pikipiki (motorcycles) are another common method of transportation here in Tanzania, especially when the roads are impassable.  However, the Peace Corps forbids volunteers to ride them.  It is one of the offenses that will send you home.

A few people here have cars, nice ones too: Toyotas, Land Cruisers, SUVs and pickups.  Unfortunately I do not know any one who has one.  My school does have a vehicle, a Land Rover, but I think it is the first model ever made.  It is parked outside the staffroom and has not moved from its spot in a really long time.  When I see it, I think of my dad.  He likes to check my tires for baldness whenever I come to visit.  If he ever saw these tires, he probably would not even allow me to sit in it, despite the fact that it does not run.  If transport in the school vehicle is out, what is left?

Why bus of course!  Public transportation.  If you are thinking Greyhound or Trailways, with each passenger having their own seat and the luggage neatly stowed, put that thought right out of your mind.  That would surpass even our "luxury" buses.  Those of you who have visited or lived in a developing country will know what I mean.  Buses range in size from small dala dalas (narrow Toyota passenger vans) or the bit larger Coaster.  In Tanzania these vans, built for 15 or 20, can easily fit 30 or more passengers.  Larger buses travel between the big cities, but if you stand by the side of the road and flap your hand up and down like a whale's tail, they will usually stop and take you into town.  But don't count on it.  One day, standing in the rain, I flapped my hand vigorously at an oncoming bus and it did not stop.  I was a bit offended.  There is always more space between two people.  But I will warn you, if you really value your personal space, these buses are not for you.  

There are two phrases in my Swahili phrasebook that gave me a good chuckle when I first arrived in Tanzania:  "How many people can ride on this bus?" and "I don't want to ride on top."  Recent experiences have brought these phrases to mind.  During Christmas week I was traveling home to Mkuu from Moshi.  The bus was very crowded and Cheryl and I were both standing.  Cheryl really hates riding on crowded buses and she especially hates standing, so when I saw a lady get ready to "shusha" (exit), I quickly slipped my little self into her seat (yes, I am shrinking).  I was so quick about it that another lady actually sat on my lap. However, she just laughed because she knew that I had claimed it fair and square.  As soon as it was convenient, I traded places with Cheryl.  (the trip to Moshi can take anywhere from 45 minutes to 3 hours, today was a longer trip).  I had already given my bag to someone else to hold when I boarded the bus and standing does not bother me so much.  I had a pole to hang onto, the chicken with its head sticking out of the bag on the lady's lap near me was very quiet (I am sure it will make a nice pet) and the bus was full of nuns (maybe there was a convention or something).  I took this opportunity to tell them in my broken Kiswahili that I was attending the Catholic church and would really like to be able to participate during mass.  I wanted to know where I could get a book with the Kiswahili words (a student has recently given me a small prayer book that also contains the order of mass).  Well, I must have a way with words because the nuns were very amused. One of them told me to look in the bookstore in Moshi.

It was really a pleasant trip.  I enjoyed chatting with the nuns, and once again, being the source of entertainment.  We went over some big bumps in the road, and since my arms were raised hanging onto the pole and overhead bin, I was bounced, not once, but two or three times straight up in the air.  That put my Tanzanian friends in stitches.  After awhile, people began to get off, and I finally got my own seat.  I even was considerate enough to take my own bag back from the kid who had been holding it all this time.  Now I had the opportunity to just sit and enjoy the countryside and the late afternoon sun.  Suddenly I saw the shadow of the bus in the dirt piles along the side of the road, and there was someone riding on top!  I don't know why he was riding on top, maybe to hold down the mattresses and other luggage, maybe because there had been no room on the bus, but right then I vowed to learn the phrase "I don't want to ride on top."

My next memorable experience with buses was a bit more harrowing.  I walked to town to go to the internet one afternoon after school.  When I finished, it was raining, so I decided to take the bus home.  I waited at the bus stand and soon a bus came.  It was very crowded so I decided to wait for the next one.  So I sat with the bibis selling their wares and the boys hawking snacks.  It was close to 5:30 pm and raining hard now.  I knew I could not walk home in the dark.  I had to take the next bus, so when it came (remember I am now Tanzanian) I ran and pushed my way to the front and onto the bus.  As I went up the steps, there was nothing to hold onto and with the crowd behind me, I felt like I would fall and be trampled.  However an arm reached out and grabbed me and pulled me into a small protected spot near the front.  This man blocked the way so the rest of the people had to go towards the back.  I was thinking that the bus was already full and that no one else would be able to board, but no, they kept coming.  We were packed tighter than sardines in a can. A couple of people were even hanging onto the outside of the bus.  I was bent over some lady's seat and my young protector had his arm around me, not because he was being fresh, but because we both were hanging on tightly to the seat in front of us.  From where I was standing I had a clear view of the road ahead, that is, after one of the 5 or 6 front seat passengers used his coat to wipe the steam from the windows so the driver could see.  The roads looked like rivers and lakes.  The depth of the mud could be measured in feet.  The bus was so overloaded that I thought we would tip over going around every corner.  I did a lot of praying and the driver just revved the engine each time we got bogged down in the mud, and miraculously, we made it up each hill.  The driver could not stop at my usual stop because it was on a hill, so he let me off further down the road where it was flat.  As I got off, I thanked my new friend and said "God be with you."  What more can you say in Tanzania?  (A student asked me the other day, after I told her that some people in America do not believe in a God, "But how can they live?")

How do you get from place to place in a country that has limited options.  Do you not go to the market during the rainy season because you are afraid to ride the bus?  Do you not risk riding in the back of a crowded pickup truck or on the top of a bus when you are taking a loved one to the hospital?  No, if you lived in Tanzania, you would take the bus, and like me and many of my fellow passengers, you would be putting all of your trust in God.  I made it home that day, soaked to the skin, despite having an umbrella, and soon I heard a "hodi" at my door.  My neighbor's son was there with a water bottle full of homemade juice.  She knows I don't drink "pombe" so juice was the next best thing.  That night I thought of those Kiswahili phrases "I don't want to ride on top" and "how many people does that bus hold?" and I just said, "thanks be to God!"

Karibu Tanzania!  Maisha ni magumu hapa, lakini watu ni wazuri sana.  (Welcome to Tanzania!  Life is hard here, but the people are very nice)

Until next time

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

Invigilating Exams

December 22, 2009

It is two days before the night before Christmas but I want to wish you all a wonderful holiday while I am here in Moshi and have access to the internet.  Last night it rained quite hard, but when I woke up this morning, the sun was shining and there was snow on the mountain peak.  (Mawenzie Peak, Mt. Kilimanjaro. I took a picture from my bedroom window.  I can also see the top of Kibo peak from my school.  That one always has a snow cap.  Mt. Kilimanjaro's peaks are not quite as impressive when you are living halfway up the mountain).  I hope you all have a beautiful white Christmas.

Today I invigilated (proctored/administered) the last exam before the holiday break.  The procedures for giving exams are a bit different here in Tanzania.  Actually, I am not sure if there are any real procedures.  Each teacher writes out their exam on loose leaf paper and then the secretary types it up on the computer and then photocopies it.  Unfortunately, we had no power for four days straight and then only intermittently after that, so she had to type the exams on an old manual typewriter and then have someone take them to town to be copied.  This does not mean jumping in your car and driving to Kinkos.  It means walking down to the road and waiting for a crowded bus to come along and hoping that it stops to pick you up.  When you get to town, you find a shop that has electricity and a photocopier that works,then you wait in line while the employees attend to other business.  In Tanzania about the only thing you have is time.  After awhile your copies are done, and you carry them back to the bus stand, board another crowded bus (you are probably standing tightly crushed between several other people or maybe even sitting on some poor soul's lap), but eventually you make it back to school.  The remarkable thing is that during this several hour delay, the students have been sitting in their classrooms studying unsupervised.  After all, where would they go?

 In North Carolina we were always required to attend test training before giving exams.  Here the second master hands me a pile of exams and says to invigilate the form 6 PCM physics exam.  (We cannot give our own exams). I don't have to count them.  I don't have to sign for them.  I think I know where the Form 6 PCM classroom is but I am not quite sure.  When I get there, I ask the students if I am in the right place and they say "yes."  I only hope that they have understood my question.  The exam is 3 hours long and I must stand the whole time.  I could not sit down, grade papers, or read even if I had wanted to.  There was no where to sit, no empty chair, no desk, nothing but the cold, dirty concrete floor. I tried to lean up against the wall to rest my feet and my back, but every time I did, a student would rap on their desk and stare at me intensely.  This is the way students get your attention.  They do not raise their hands or call to you.  I would scurry over with a clean sheet of paper (answers to exam questions are written on lined newsprint paper, 8.5 x 14, and students write a lot).  In fact, a few times we ran out of paper, and I had to go out on the landing and call out to someone in the schoolyard to go to the office and ask someone to bring more paper.  One time I think it was just a woman passing through the yard, but she went.  Tanzanians are such helpful people.  The paper does not have any margins so students draw their own, always using a ruler.  Only a few students have rulers, so they would ask me to let them borrow someone's ruler from across the room.  So I spent alot of time shifting rulers around, the same scenario for calculators.  Answers to questions must be written in ink, but figures and drawings are done in pencil.  You guessed it.  Only a few students have pencils, so I had to carry these all around the room as well.  It was also a very windy day and since many of the windows in the classroom don't latch and most are missing panes of glass, it was also quite windy in the classroom.  I put a rock against the door to keep it from banging, and I just chased after students' papers when they blew off their desks.  No one complained.  This is Tanzania.  Life is hard here but they are used to it.  At the end of 3 hours many students were still writing. I had to tell them to stop and organize their many papers.  Then I sent a student to find the stapler (we share one with all classrooms) and I went around and stapled their novels together.  Invigilating an exam in Tanzania is quite a vigil.

I have now developed a fairly consistent daily routine: set my alarm for 5:30 am, get up when it goes off, go to the kitchen, put a pot of water on the hotplate to heat, go back to bed for half an hour, then go to the kitchen and using two wash cloths as pot holders, carefully carry the hot water down the hall to my bathroom.  Remember always to wear my flip flops when touching anything on the hotplate because  electricity here is grounded differently than ours (maybe it isn't) and I often get shocked.  Back in the bathroom, I take a delightful bucket bath after mixing hot water with cold water in my bathroom bucket.  The hardest part for me is getting the soap off my arms.  How do you pour with one hand and rub the soap off with the hand attached to your arm?  Maybe I need to pour the water with the hand attached to my arm and rub with the other.  No problem, I have two years to perfect it.

This routine works well for me if I have electricity and water.  When I have no power, I cannot heat any water, so I must wash my hair and other selected parts with cold water (no, all of Africa is not warm and washing with cold water in Kilimanjaro takes your breath away).  To minimize the unpleasantness, I have lowered my bathing standards.  Washing with cold water is painful, but I think having no water is worse.  A western toilet is nice in the western world, but with no water, flushing is a problem.  I could use bucket water, but it requires so much, and I have to go quite a distance to fetch it. My solution is to limit flushing. Washing clothes also takes a lot of water, so this week I skipped my Sunday laundry party and recycled my clothes.  I did the sniff test and did not faint, but how am I to know? I have only been taking sprinkle baths.  After school each day, I take my bucket to the well.  My students are usually there, and they insist on carrying mine.  Tanzanian girls are so strong.  I told them that over the holiday break, when they are all gone and there is no one here to help me, that I was going to practice carrying the bucket of water on my head.  They were amused but also concerned that I would be alone for the holidays.  Several invited me to their homes.  I told them not to worry.  My friend Cheryl was coming over and I was going to cook pilau (Tanzanian spiced rice).  That relieved their fears.  If I was going to cook pilau for Christmas, then I was certainly going to be all right. They could return to their homes in peace.

It will be a quiet Christmas this year.  Cheryl and I will have dinner together.  I will decorate an evergreen branch and play my itunes Christmas songs.  Maybe we will watch Chariots of Fire (the only DVD I have) on my computer.  Maybe we will even go for a hike.  However, Cheryl lives further up the mountain than I do and she has no electricity.  She may not want she to go because has quite a hike every day.

My students tell me that they dream of going to America one day.  I asked them why, and they said because life in Tanzania is so hard.  There are so many problems.  America has so much.  I told them that was true, we are blessed with abundance, but we have our problems too.  They asked what kind of problems could we possibly have when we have everything we need.  I said that sometimes when you have so much, you forget what is really important.  They asked what it was that Americans had forgotten, and I said that sometimes we forget that loving God and loving one another is what is really important.  They said "kweli" (truly) and made their characteristic little clucking sounds as a way of affirming what I had said.  Then they told me that here in Tanzania, I should not feel alone.  They will be my family. 

Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.  Sing a Christmas song for me.  I love "O Holy Night" but the high notes are a bit tricky.  Maybe the Spirit will be with me again and I will be able to sing some Kiswahili songs.  Enjoy your time with your families.  Give them all a hug, because loving people is what life is all about.  I will sing, I will eat, I will experience Christmas in my new home, and I will be ok, but still, I will remember all of you who have been such an important part of my life.

God bless you all (Kwa Herini),