So many things in my life now are simply part of my routine, and yet as I try and step back and think to what life was like 10 months ago I realize that living in Tanzania is a lot different than people at home might imagine. So here’s a quick “hot to” guide for living in Tanzania…
HOW TO…
--BRUSH YOUR TEETH. Put a pee size amount of Whitedent (the only type of toothpaste easy to find in Tanzania) on your toothbrush. Do not wet. Brush your teeth as you walk around your courtyard and fill up a lemonade pitcher with water from a bucket that’s sitting under the ledge of the roof collecting rainwater. Spit by the hole in the corner of the courtyard where water drains out. Rinse off toothbrush and wash away white gunk before it dries. Do not rinse your mouth unless you have the energy to pour yourself a glass of drinking water.
--GO TO THE BATHROOM. When at home enter the drop choo (pit latrine). Squat down. Most prefer the “heels on the ground method.” I, personally, am unable to do this well, so I just squat and balance on the balls of my feet. Try not to spray on your shoes. Always make sure your bum is over the hole. Cleaning up poo on the edge of the choo is not fun. Wipe…wash your hands. When you’re not at home the process is complicated a bit. On long bus rides the bus may occasionally stop somewhere in the middle of nowhere. You may look around the bus confusedly to see who is getting off and then realize that the answer is everyone. This is a bathroom break. Women go to one side of the bus. Men to the other. You must push your way off the bus. There is no order. You must get back on before the driver is finished and is ready to leave. HURRY. Carry toilet paper in an easy to reach place. On long walking trips a similar method is necessary. You may look for a clearing in the woods or a large tree to pee behind. You should still greet people if they happen to walk past when you are peeing…greeting is very polite. If for some reason you forget toilet paper, you may use leaves, scraps of paper in your purse, or anything else you can find. There is also the option of using the bucket of water that Tanzanians have in all bathrooms for personal hygiene purposes.
--WASH DISHES. Dishes should be washed in the morning. There should be a special basin for dishes only. You can buy fancy sponges and soap in town or use a cut-off from the sack that holds your charcoal and a piece of the long, orange bars of soap that are also used to wash your clothes, body, and hair. If water is readily available you can use another bucket or larger pan to rinse dishes in. Dishes should be placed outside upside-down to try in the sun.
--WASH CLOTHES. (Heat water…optional). Fill one basic a little less than half full. Separate clothes into things that will bleed and things that won’t. Wash the things that won’t first. Put a bunch in the water. Rub a bar of soap all over them and then rub the article against itself until it is clean. Also wash in a vertical direction to prevent clothes from being rung-out. If you actually use deodorant, you will have to pay careful attention to your armpits, although you will likely end up with permanent pit stains from the aluminum in your deodorant (I do). Wring out clothes thoroughly. Place in a bucket of somewhat clean water. Wring out again. Hang on the line. Pray that it won’t rain. In the dry season, it may be necessary to finish the drying process inside. However, if too much drying is done inside it will take too long and your clothes will smell like mildew. This will make you need to do the whole process again. I repeat. Pray that it won’t rain. (Note, you may look at your pile and think, “Yeah, this will take me about 20 minutes.” You will be wrong. It has never, EVER, taken me less than an hour….and it’s usually closer to 2. Although the neighborhood children also usually come and marvel at my clothes line…”14 articles of clothes!” they proclaim. I am rich.
--DRINK WATER. Start the charcoal stove. (This can be a difficult process the first few times). Pile in a lot of charcoal. Find a place that looks deep. Pour kerosene into that hole. DO NOT JUST POUR IT ALL OVER THE TOP. Light the kerosene on fire. Let it sit until the coals are all hot or fan the flames with a bucket lid or plate or anything else you can find. Put a pot of water on the very hot coals. Wait…FOR-EV-ER. Allow to cool. Then pour into your water filter (Expensive water filters can be purchased that are made out of ceramic, but if you’re in the PC, you probably have a homemade water filter. It is two, 10-liter buckets placed on top of each other. In the top bucket is a “candle” that looks like a huge piece of chalk. The water goes through this candle and drips through a small opening at the base into a hole in the top of the bottom bucket. In the bottom bucket is a spicket like the kind you’d attach your garden hose to. Drinkable water comes out of this spicket. Important note…you will be very proud once you have made a functional water filter. A lot of superglue may be necessary to fill gaps that were created when you tried to melt holes in the buckets with a knife, bottle opener, or whatever other awkward metal you could find when you first arrived at site. You also may discover that having the top of the water filter way above your head is precarious to your health. You will likely spill boiling water on yourself at least once and you also will not be able to see when fungus is starting to grow in your top bucket. It is good to have tall friends or a stool nearby.
--BATHE. If you are blessed and live in a warm part of Tanzania heating your water is unnecessary. If you live where I live see how to start the charcoal stove…and heat your water. You will probably heat it too much and have to mix it with cold water. Approximatley 10 liters will be needed if you want to wash your entire body and wash your hair and/or shave. However, during the dry season you will realize most of these things are optional and really only certain body parts MUST be bathed on a regular basis. Take your water into a somewhat private room (here it’s called the bafu—it’s also the place where you can “short call” or urinate. You will learn that awkwardly when slightly tipsy at a party or when a student leaves a puddle next to your shampoo). Remember the lemonade pitcher you used to wash your toothpaste down the drain? Fill it up with water and dump it all over yourself. Quickly shampoo your hair and rinse. Now that your whole body is wet….suds up. And rinse again. You probably will have to scrub the dirt off your feet. And if you are a wuss like me, you’ll probably risk the fumes and bring your charcoal stove in the bathroom with you to keep warm between pitchers of hot water.
--BAKE. The day you discover baking in Africa will be one the best of your life. It may even eclipse the birth of your second child. (Come on….we all know the second child is no big deal….Why do you think there’s only a few pictures of me. I mean, them….most second children) ;-) Anyway, start the charcoal stove like you normally do, but add lots of extra charcoal. When it’s hot, take some coals off and put them on the lid of a large pot. Place the pot on the stove. Put 3 stones in a triangle in the center of the pot. Put another pot holding the bread, brownies, cake, bisquits, etc. on top of these stones. Then put the cover of the large pot with the hot coals, carefully on top. The space between whatever your baking and the top and bottom should be about the same distance so that the food inside cooks evenly. You’ll probably have to change out the coals on top as they burn out. Sticks and wooden spoons work, but they tend to catch on fire or smoke. You will eventually want to buy some metal tongs. If your Tanzanian you can use your fingers. But you are not Tanzanian. Do NOT use your fingers.
--MAKE FRIENDS WITH CHILDREN. See previous session. Brownies are the international language of love.
--GET MONEY FROM THE BANK. First you will need to get up around 5:45….and press snooze until 6. Fumble around your house in the dark and walk about 10 minutes as your watch the sunset on your way to the nearest “town.” Here there will be competing car lines trying to get your to board their car/van. They will pull you, take your bags, sweet talk you, etc. They work for commission. Don’t get angry. If it is the dry season many people will pile into the car. You will likely have someone (or some animal) sitting on your lap, smacking into the back of your head, and just generally encroaching, no…invading, your personal space. This will not change until you arrive. You will all share a similar smell and dusting of reddish earth by the time you arrive. It will be a fast, bumpy ride. If it is the rainy season, you will likely get stuck in the mud several times. Here is the one time you will be happy to be a woman in Tanzanian. The women have to get out and walk ahead to where the road recovers. Sometimes waiting for up to a few hours. Men on the other hand have to push. HA. You will often think you’ll never arrive, but you’ll be wrong. Tanzanians can do anything. Even traverse mud 6 feet deep. You will get there. You’ll likely be sick to your stomach, so you’ll enjoy a tasty breakfast of tea and fried dough or supu (beef broth with one huge chunk of meat). Then you’ll walk up to the bank where you’ll likely wait approximately 2 hours. The power may go out. The network may go down as soon as you reach the front of the line. You will likely spend the two hours in line thinking of ludicrous ways to express your anger. You may start maniacally laughing by yourself. You may curse the folks who come in and “save” their place in line and sit and wait, until you think there’s only one more person before you get to the magical teller window, but then one person becomes three and three seven. You will likely long for the Federal Teachers Credit Union, but you will remind yourself this is the only bank for about 100 km in every direction and so you try and keep your cool. Sometimes you will fail. You will almost always walk away with a lot of money so that you don’t have to come back again for a while.
--CHEER YOURSELF UP. Open your front door. Within 20 minutes there will likely be at least a handful of local children interested in playing with you. A smiling laughing child is hard to resist. If it’s a really bad day, turn on your radio. Now the smiling, laughing children will start dancing. You will start to feel better in no time.
--VISIT FRIENDS. No need to call ahead. No need to make plans. Tanzanian friends always want to see you. If you haven’t seen each other for a few days, they will likely tell you you’ve been lost or ask you where you traveled to. They’re not really angry, they just want you to know you were missed. When you arrive at a friend’s house. Don’t bang on the door. They would think you’re silly. Instead when you reach the courtyard or open door, say “HODI!?” “Hodi,” is like saying, “Hello? Anyone home? Can I come in?” You will ALWAYS receive the response, “Karibu!” or “Welcome!” Visits can be quick and consist of a few greetings or a brief exchange of news, but they are best when a bit extended and food is involved. (NOTE: Some PCVs have mastered “piga hoding” as a method to build relationships and to get yummy food from gracious neighbors).
This is probably the least insightful entry I’ve ever written, but hopefully you enjoyed it. If there’s anything else you’d like to know how to do in Tanzania, let me know!
Monday, April 27, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
What is the Peace Corps Experience, Anyway?
I remember when I studied in Uganda our teachers made us spend a lot of time talking about our expectations before we arrived and how those expectations then matched up with our experience in country. I remember thinking….I didn’t really have a lot of expectations for that experience. It was so new and foreign. I expected abject poverty and thus students and a learning environment that somehow revealed the state of the country at large. I was shocked to find a beautiful campus, bright, ambitious students, and an environment beautiful beyond my imagination. Now since I’ve been in Tanzania for just over 9 months (I could have birthed a baby by now!) I think it’s once again time to reflect on how my expectations of this—the Peace Corps experience—instersect with the reality of my day to day life.
Before arriving in TZ when I imagined my PC experience here’s a few thoughts that came to my mind: hippies, loneliness, simplicity, “roughing it,” dangerous, hot, defined, and “eye-opening.” If this sounds about right to you…read on…you’ll likely be quite surprised.
HIPPIES. As I stood behind the bar at Locomotions struggling to explain to the patrons (aka the locals) why I was joining the PC, I got mixed responses. Some were very supportive. Impressed by my compassion. Envious of my bravery. (Those people certainly gave my ego a good stroke). Then there were others who thought I was down right stupid. Finally, there was a last group. These folks didn’t say much, but I could read their thoughts in their glassy eyes and their reluctant smiles. Some even shook their heads. “Ah…to be young and naive,” they seemed to say. Or simply, “Crazy hippy.” Yeah, I’ll admit it. Even I figured every PC volunteer was a crazy hippy before I arrived at staging in Washington, DC (except me of course, but I’m different. Ha, again with the ego). Yup, I thought I’d stumble into a small group of young, radical, tree-hugging psychedelics. I was pretty shocked to walk into a room full of 49 ridiculously diverse individuals. Ages 21-69 were represented. Single folks and a married couple. A mess of different religions (even a few I’ve never heard of) and a few different colors and sexual orientations. But on top of the diversity that I should have expected from a group of Americans our size, I was shocked by the stereotypical personalities as well. Who would have guessed I’d be joined by stillhetto-loving sorority girls, rugged mountain men, educated professionals, world travelers, crazy partiers, and class clowns. I guess I was smart enough to know not everyone would be like me, but I had the completely wrong picture of what they’d be like. And beyond that—I was an absolute failure at guessing who’d “make it” and who’d really be a great volunteer. Some of the people that I read as “class clowns” (aka goof-offs) are amazingly creative and insightful volunteers. Girls that I picked as wussy or prissy turned out to survive siafu (killer ants) attacks and cockroaches as big as my thumb. Ha, so yeah. Lesson learned. We’re a diverse bunch and truly each of us brings a different worldview and a different set of skills to the table in our very different situations. So that being said, in my attempt to describe to you a brief (well, probably not…you know me) picture of the PC Experience, bear in mind this is only a snap shot of my experience.
Ok, Chapter 2. LONELINESS. I remember lying on the bed in my dorm room listening to Switchfoot basically balling like a baby. I had just finished my PC application and I was just really being hit by the fact that I was going to spend the next 2 years of my life living by myself in a village on the other side of the world from all my family and friends. It was an excellent release, I’ll admit….although slightly embarrassing when my roommate walked in. Anyway, I was only half right that day. I am indeed ridiculously far away from my family and closest friends. Some days the separation is killer. I just “want my mommy” or want to go crazy at my friend’s bachelorette party or hold my friend in a rough time, or help my girl move into her new apartment. I long to be there for the people I love—in the good times and the bad, but sometimes I miss the little things too. I just want to talk about the good ol’ days over strawberry daiquiris with the girls or shuck sweet corn and ride in the car with mom or listen to my brother’s band in a stuffy bar in downtown Albany (long live Badgerpants). Yes, it’s hard to be away, but I do my best to let people know I care and so do all of you. The half that I was wrong about was that I’d be alone here. WRONG. First of all, as I mentioned earlier I came here with an awesome group of people (7 have now gone home and their absence is certainly felt). These people serve in various capacities of friendship, enlightenment, encouragement, guidance, and inspiration. They are my family on holidays. My girls as we get ready to go out. My spiritual counselors. And simply friends. I may see a large group at holidays or birthday celebrations, every month or two. But we are linked by, yes, technology. Most of us have cell phones and decent service at site so we can be in contact multiple times a day. This can help us through hard times, but it can occasionally jade us against Tanzanians and their culture too. Even beyond being in phone contact with other volunteers, I was placed within an hour drive of one other American volunteer and an hour walk of another. That means that when I need to “get away” there’s always a mzungu (Foreigner) nearby who will listen to my problems or simply help me escape back to another world. We Makete volunteers are all excellent cooks and thanks to family and friends at home one of us always has a ready supply of chocolate or oreos for a dire circumstance. Is this bad? No, I don’t think so. I’m pretty blessed by the relationships I’ve made with other PCVs. I not only am privy to my own insights and struggles, but theirs as well. However, my expectation of this experience was me—totally and utterly submerged in a community and culture different than mine. Some other volunteers testify that this is indeed the case at their sites, but it’s not true for me and really it’s not true for the country at large. Tanzania is crawling with foreigners—Americans, Europeans, even Latin Americans and Asians. They’re aid workers, like me, tourists, business people, and students. Did I really think I was so special as to be the lone white face here (that is how it is in the movies, after all). No, I’m not alone here. And sometimes I feel guilty for the time I spend with my friends here (a sensation new to me), but then I try to remind myself that all the people here are gifts from God and to be valued. I also try and continue to cultivate friendships with the Tanzanians in my village. Tanzanians are a loving, welcoming, generous people. Everywhere I’ve lived I’ve been adopted by at least one family. My Tanzanian mamas are always proud of me and of their highly esteemed position. They ask if I have told my “real” mom about them. I don’t really know if they want her to feel comforted or jealous. Probably both. Anyway, I’m blessed with dotting daddies, mamas who make sure I’m home at night and that I don’t go to sleep without a full belly, little brothers who provide me with endless laughter and TLC for my precious bicycle, and finally sisters who grant me entry into their lives and bless me with girl-talk and fashion tips. Tanzanians are shocked when I tell them I live alone, but really if I’m ever alone, it’s by choice. There’s always a chair by the fire for me in mama’s kitchen. That being said, I sometimes still struggle with the realization that while I have a family here, “friends” are a bit harder to come by. I think that’s partly because friendship is so based on communication. For my first couple of months here my communication abilities were slim to nil. Eventually, I became fluent in work and everyday discourse, but real friendships aren’t built on “where you from?” and “where ya headed?” It’s tortuous when you know two words for semen and two more for orgasm (comes with the territory when you’re a health teacher), but you can’t ask someone about their relationship with their husband or boyfriend. Even now as my fluency in Kiswahili grows I’m realizing that the language of “girl-talk” here is not Kiswahili, it’s Kikinga or Kimahanji, the tribal languages spoken in my area. So, once again I’m defeated. And that leads to another issue. In TZ women and men aren’t really friends. I guess it’s acceptable in certain contexts—work environments or relatives, but for the most part, the genders are separated—literally. They do different work. They sit on opposite sides of the room at church or at village meetings. They wear very different clothes. So unless I want the rumors flying about my promiscuity, it’s best to stick to girlfriends. Fine with me, mostly. I like Tanzanian women. The mamas are the warmest women you’ll ever meet. Girls my age, on the other hand…they’re a different story. They intimidate the hell out of me. We’re talking strong women. They’re bonded by hardships and experiences I don’t understand. Most women my age are mothers. Most married. Most farmers. They’re tough. They’re proud. I think though in some ways they’re as intimidated by me as I am by them. I’m white—and therefore beautiful ( a point I will fight them on until the day I leave. Seriously. These girls are stunning. They just can’t see it). Plus, I’m educated. A feat most of the women remaining in village can’t claim. So where are we? I’m scared of them and they’re scared of me. Basically, I try and smile and small talk them up—everyday. J It can be tiring and frustrating, but I can see the walls are starting to fall and friendships are starting to really blossom. So…the question remains…am I lonely? And the resounding answer…not in the least (although I’ll be happy to admit that I’m discovering more and more my introverted side).
SIMPLICITY. When I read Foster’s Celebration of Discipline in my sophomore year of college (Thanks Prof Wally), I learned that simplicity is a Christian discipline. When I returned to college my senior year after spending a semester in Africa, it was a discipline I spent a lot of time struggling with. I turned to my Ugandan Studies Program professor for advice as I drowned in guilt and frustration. He comforted me that I can’t feel guilty over the complexity of my life due to my culture. He reminded me that I have to make a ridiculous amount of decisions—many of them small and relatively insignificant, others quite large and monumental—but all of them blessing and curses stemming from my culture. Here I expected to be able to enter the “simple” lives of my Tanzanian neighbors simply because of my locative position (Note: I don’t mean simple as in ignorant, but as in uncluttered). However, I am quickly learning that simplicity doesn’t come from the outside, but from the inside. My Tanzanian friends have basically the same access to food stuffs that I do (although I can go to the city and buy soy sauce and cocoa powder), but while they have a handful of staple meals, I am constantly trying new things. It’s likely my diet is more diverse here than it was in America. Even my house is a testament to my cluttered culture. First of all, my house is probably on the nicer side of PC abodes. It’s definitely the biggest house in my village and I live alone. But beyond that, it’s newly painted and slowly filling with nice furniture, carpets, pictures, matching curtains, and various other clutter. It’s beautiful. And it makes me feel comfortable and at home. The desire for that is no different from my Tanzanian friends. They too decorate their houses. The difference is that my house looks like my idea of a nice home and I’ve spent thousands of shillings doing it. Mix-matched material; clashing colors; cell phone ads and various other newspaper clippings in unknown languages; unframed, faded pictures; large posters of Asian babies, white people eating grapes, or various rappers; mats hung on the wall; and various sayings about hospitality or religion, are not my ideas of decoration. My rooms have color themes. Kids have to take off their shoes before coming in the house (partly because I’m too lazy to clean every day and partly because I like it clean). My house is much larger than I need. It’s excessive really. But I can’t help that. What I’ve done with it on the inside, however, is under my control. And while I don’t really feel guilty for my nesting activities, I can’t say I’m now a shining example of the discipline of simplicity either. And what about money? I often get frustrated trying to explain to people that while I’m white I’m really not all that rich. I explain that I just finished college and had a lot of loans and that now I’m a volunteer. They usually get that message, but that leads to two other complications. First, what “Volunteer” makes more per month than everyone else in town? With the less than $200 I make per month for living expenses, I am still the richest person in town. And even beyond that, if I ever really needed money I could get it from my rich friends and family in America. I get frustrated with that one, but in ways I know they’re right. I try to use my frustration and guilt as a catalyst for good decision making with my finances. Do I really need to use the internet? Do I really need to go to town for shopping or to visit friends? Do I really need a beer? Do I need 4 different kinds of veggies for one week? Do I need to eat meat this week? Do I need to send all these text messages? Can I mend this skirt myself instead of going to a fundi? Do I need electricity? Should I give loans? Should I help orphans with their school fees? Coming here didn’t simplify my rich American lifestyle in the least. If anything it may have complicated it. Not that I have more decisions to make, it’s just that now they all seem a little more drastic and dramatic. The houses made of mud and dung are next door. The 6-year-old on ARVs is smiling with rotting teeth, waiting for me on my doorstep. The reality of the world doesn’t hit me when I see a Christian Children Fund Commercial or at a World Vision plug at a rock concert. No, it hits me some days as the sunrises and I squat on my toilet or start my charcoal stove. No, life is definitely not simpler for me here. Not in the easy way I hoped, at least. I recently got my hands on Foster’s book again to do as a devotion with a friend. Hopefully I’ll get something new from it this time that I couldn’t see before.
Chapter 4. Before I arrived at site, I thought PC was all about “roughing it.” I’ve had friends tell me in personal letters that they think living without running water, electricity, a toilet, a shower, and a computer is beyond their capacity (although I have a pretty sweet pocket camping shower, thanks mom! And I often use Bret’s computer). These are things I don’t even think twice about anymore (and actually while I was staying at a nice motel a few weeks ago I longed to squat to go to the bathroom)! I have nice clothes, delicious food, and a comfortable house. It’s far from “roughing it.” That being said, I don’t farm everyday (I tried it a few days—it was Fing hard, pardon my language) like my Tanzanian neighbors. Now it’s the rainy season so I don’t have to chote water. The only physical demands I have are walking all over creation and doing some house chores. My life isn’t that hard. I could even afford to pay people to do the little amount of work I do actually do. No, I’m not roughing it. Cell phones and Internet are available. During my training in January, our Country Director (the CD or head honcho) and Programming and Training Officer (PTO and #2) were giving us a bit of a lecture about our reliance on cell phones. It kinda had a “in my day we had to walk up hill to school in three feet of snow both ways” kind of ring, but afterwards I was feeling slightly jealous (those women were real PC volunteers, I thought) and also slightly guilty. The CD described lying on her living room floor, sure she was dying, hoping someone would come check on her. These days, I can call the medical officer if my sniffles last an unusually long time. I can relate in detail my most recent bowel movement to all my friends via text. Isolation is not a part of my experience. Am I jealous of these pioneering volunteers? A little, yes. Should I feel guilty thought? No, I really don’t think so. I can’t help it that TZ is progressing. I can’t help it that cell phones and internet are a part of life for a lot of people here. However, I do appreciate the thought. I have now tried to reduce my cell phone use and be more dependent on the Tanzanians close to me, God, and even myself. But am I really “roughing it?” Nope. I talk to my parents on the phone and eat brownies while listening to my ipod on battery powered speakers. I’m not roughing it, but I am learning to live with a foot in each world. A state that while ideally is frustrating and sometimes disconcerting, is part of my job and just an excepted part of my experience now. I fax reports, communicate with my boss via email, and post web blogs. I also chote water, wash my clothes by hand, and walk about an hour to work almost every day. Maybe I am roughing it. You’re free to judge.
DANGER! As I read the literature from PC, I’ll admit I was terrified by the frequency of muggings, attacks, rapes, and even murders among PCVs. I was nervous amount transportation. I was absolutely paranoid about HIV and a slew of other diseases, parasites, and poisonous creepy-crawlies. While granted, these are all real threats in TZ, most days I feel absolutely perfectly safe. My neighbors (and Salome our Safety and Security Officer) watch my back and most icky creepy crawlies don’t like the cold weather of Kitula (although I do now have a rat! Eek! And my grandma is now in the hospital from a poisonous snake bite). However, I’ll admit that I split my money when I travel, never walk alone at night, and say a prayer every time I travel. Accidents happen everywhere. Bad people are in TZ just like they’re in America. So, yeah, maybe life is a bit more dangerous here, but I don’t lose sleep over it.
HOT! Some of you are probably tired of hearing me whine about this so I’ll try and keep this part brief. Basically, I hate winter. I hate being cold. I love flip flops and swimming and strolling in the spring. One of the main selling points of PC TZ was that I thought I’d be escaping the ungodly climate of NY. However, I’ve managed to land myself in one of the coldest parts of TZ. I’ve finally kicked the nasty cold I had for most of February. I’ve started wearing a winter coat (yep, I have a sweet, yellow puff-coat I found at a used clothing market in Iringa town. Best 4,500 shillings I ever spent. More importantly, I’ve stopped being a slave to fashion and comfort. Now, almost everyday, on my feet I am wearing wool socks and rain boots (thanks mom)! Turns out covering my chest and having warm, dry feet does wonders. Whenever I start complaining about the cold my TZ friends remind me of the stories I’ve told them of snow storms, snow shoveling, and snow days. I reluctantly shut up, but I tend to find myself muttering something under my breath about central heating, pants, and cars. Soon the rainy season will be over, but then the cold kicks in (yup, in June when y’all are warming up it’ll start getting cold here) and I’ll have to chote water again. I think I’ll just try and sell myself on the notion that my rain boots are adorable and that I love that it rains everyday (even though I just want to get back in bed and read or snuggle and watch a movie). HA. Expectations. This one probably pisses me off the most… J
Chapter…oh who knows? WELL DEFINED. As I imagined PC, between shifts at my various and in sundry jobs since finishing college, I always imagined it to be a job like any other job I’ve ever had. I didn’t really ponder the idea. It was a simple assumption. I blindly assumed that this job, like every other, would have clearly defined hours, policies, guidelines, responsibilities, etc. I suppose I was right about the policies (PC is a branch of the American bureaucracy, after all), but I think I grossly over estimated my ability to hop right into my responsibilities. I’ve never really had a job that defeated me mentally or physically. I’ve always been able to play the part—or at least for a little while. But here, without a solid foundation of language, I lacked the self confidence I’ve always taken for granted. This can be quite unsettling when speeches and teaching are at the core of your job. And beyond that, I thought PC would more heavily define my role in my community, whereas in reality, it’s me upon who the burden falls to analyze my community’s needs and then work to meet them in anyway I can. WHAT?! Seriously, this aspect of my work here is much more overwhelming that I expected. I’ve never really been so aware of my lack of creativity before I tried to do this job. Honestly, it’s a bit disconcerting (and definitely humbling) to not be able to quickly master my job. But I’m learning to believe in myself once again and more importantly, I’m learning to rely on the creativity, wisdom, and resources of others in a way I never have before. It’s hard and again I’ll say it—humbling, but for all my personal trials and tribulations, I think in the end my community will benefit and so will I. But certainly my job and my performance don’t at all fit my initial expectations.
(Just for the record, I’m writing this by hand, by the light of a kerosene lantern. It’s now around 9:30 and I’ve been working on this since 6. I’ve taken a few breaks to rest my hand and/or to eat straight guacamole or dark chocolate, a bar I’ve been hoarding for months (thanks grandma)! I’m pretty much exhausted now. Don’t know if it’s because it’s so dark and quiet (the only sounds I hear are crickets and the ticking of my wind-up alarm clock in the next room) or because I walked like 6 km today and woke up at 6:15).
Ah…so…one final chapter. Has my PC experience been the “eye-opening” turning point in my life that I expected? Is it the burning bush of my life to tell me which direction to start heading in career-wise? The unfortunate answer is…nope. Unfortunately, at this point I’m just as confused as ever. Which is frustrating, but I guess I should have known. I suppose it’s still fairly early on anyway. Maybe something will suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks…but until that day…I’ll just keep taking it one day at a time…one step at a time.
I don’t know how much this has cleared up the PC experience for you. Probably not much at all, but hopefully you had some fun reading it. I know it’s been helpful for me to look back to those expectations because sometimes I can identify a source of guilt, concern, worry, or frustration that lies within me, not within the Tanzanian culture or even my day to day experiences. I also have a few random stories, updates, and announcements you might be interested in, so if you have the time and stamina…feel free to read on.
For Mrs. Zacchos and Lisa and anyone else who cares what I’ve been reading, here are the few titles I can remember since the last time I wrote:
· After Dachau by Daniel Quinn
· All About Love: New Visions by Bell Hooks (Thanks Jana!)
· Memories of my Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
· Wind In the Willows by Kenneth Graham ?
· The Alchemist by Pablo Coehlo ?
· Captivating by John and Staci Eldridge
· The Sex Lives of Cannibals by J. Maarten Troost
· Telling Secrets by Frederick Buechner
· Lamb by Christopher Moore
For those of you are sick of hearing about what I’m reading and where I’m traveling, here’s a summary of what actual work I’m now doing. In the past few weeks I have been verrrry busy! I am proud. J My counterpart and I have finished digging about half of my sizable garden, which will soon be planted with some seasonal vegetables that I will eat and will be able to offer to community members who have little to no food due to HIV/AIDS and other issues. I am now teaching life skills formally at two schools. I teach 5 periods at a secondary school about an hour walk away. The curriculum I am teaching is interesting, important, and a lot of fun. First I will teach about HIV/AIDS and other STDs to make sure my students have a solid factual base to stand on, but then the really important part of the program kicks in. The main body of life skills has to do with teaching communication skills, relationship skills, and decision making skills. The rationale behind the program is that a lack of knowledge is not what is causing HIV/AIDS to spread through Africa and other parts of the world like wildfire. The lack of equality between genders, the lack of ability to negotiate, and the lack foresight to plan for the future, are huge obstacles that need to be tackled to stop the spread of HIV. How do we prevent women from being infected by their husbands? Slap men on the hand when they’re getting drunk or give endless seminars about condoms? No! We teach women that they are equal in intelligence and ability and should have a right to discuss and have an equal say in sexual matters. How do we encourage condom use? Hand out a million condoms? No! We teach women and men how to negotiate condom use. How do we get people to think how their actions will affect their health, their dreams, and their families? Do we show them videos and guilt them into change? No! We teach them about goal setting and encourage responsible decision making. And as I say “them,” over and over again, I am focusing especially on young people. Young people are impressionable, powerful, and bright. They can ask questions. They can change the future.
I also teach a modified life skills program to elementary school students that has a slightly different focus. There are chapters about bullying, disabilities, HIV/AIDS, and decision making. At the primary school I only teach fifth graders, as two teachers already went to a seminar about life skills and are now teaching the curriculum to their sixth and seventh grade classrooms as well. Sometimes I wish I could teach these classes, but I am very happy that these teachers are teaching these students. Not only can they communicate better than I, but they too are getting passionate about my subject matter…so I certainly don’t complain.
I also am a “guest teacher” at another near-by secondary school. At this school I try and give a weekly presentation on a variety of topics, including life skills, HIV/AIDS, and STDs. Also at this school there are already students who have attended a seminar about life skills and are teaching their peers. Sometimes it frustrates me that I cannot teach the classes myself or that the students are confident without my help, but again I am happy that they are taking the initiative and getting a great experience. I also get frustrated because I never really know what to teach about, I don’t have a set plan for this school, but I am beginning to have fun and enjoy the freedom, and I truly enjoy seeing these bright and energetic students once a week.
Now that I have a more set schedule, I am deciding whether I want to extend my teaching to more schools (I really am loving teaching), but I think maybe I should take advantage of the gaps in my schedule (they are necessary for prep as well…it’s definitely not easy to teach in Swahili) but I also think having an opportunity to work on secondary projects is really important. Right now I have Fridays completely free so I am trying to spend some time at the hospital and the adjoining orphanage. I am not sure how my role will play out in these arenas, but I think it’s important to have my presence there as often as possible. Maybe at some point they will see a need where I can truly help them. I also want to have time to begin my PLWHAs group (People Living with HIV/AIDS) and to begin work with the out-of-school youth. My counterpart and I are currently working on long and short term plans for these projects.
Finally, another part of my work is now taking shape. My community asked me to write a grant in order to build bathroom facilities for the primary school where I teach. I was not psyched about the idea, to be honest. First of all, it came up just days before our grant deadline, and ever since junior year of college I haven’t been one for cramming. Next, I was hoping to avoid a building project at all costs, building projects are long, expensive, stressful, and in some cases, unsuccessful. Finally, I really didn’t like the idea of building pit latrines. In my typical American fashion, I was not excited about doing a project that wasn’t “new and improved” or “state of the art.” BUT, as I began writing this grant, I became really excited about the project. First, I began to see the huge health benefits building new toilets would have on the community. I also was excited to do this project because it is actually a really important step in development being pushed in the area, and so what better way for me to show my backing then to support the building of latrines at the school? Finally, I was really excited by the participation I received from my Tanzanian counterparts. This isn’t really just a project that I want to do. It’s something important. It’s something they care about. It’s something they’re taking ownership of. If you are interested in hearing more about my grant or you would like to help contribute please let me know. I should be receiving a link from the PC in the near future, and I truly cannot do this project without the support of people at home.
Ok…another silly thing. Here’s a list of new foods I’ve successfully created (often with the help of friends)
· Pirogues
· Mom’s potato salad
· Homemade baked beans (Thanks Mama Chris!)
· Chocolate Éclair Cake
· Cheeseburgers (with homemade buns and HEINZ Ketshup)!
· Peanut Noodles
· Chili and cornbread
· Spaghetti
· Pizza
· Pasta Primavera (that’s the cheesy kind, right?)
· Bagels
· Perfect Omlettes (yes, I’m bragging)
· Banana Pancakes
· Crepes with melted Hershey Kisses (maybe not a culinary masterpiece…but pretty darn delicious)
· Mango wine
Hungry? Running for some snack food (mmm…Doritos and ice cream and diet soda)? No problem. I’m about to completely change the subject.
It’s very rarely that I do something and then think…man, I should write a blog about that. Obviously, I’m not the best blogger, as you can see from the date of my last entry. But, while I was at my PEPFAR training in Iringa in January, one of the sessions really stood out to me. I immediately thought. Gotta blog about this one. The session was on the topic of Crossing Cultures and identifying different values. When I saw the topic on our schedule I was slightly disappointed. I assumed it would be another boring session complete with endless definitions and truly very little content. What I experienced was quite different. First, they split us American volunteers apart from our Tanzanian counterparts—which surprised me quite a bit to be honest. Then we were each instructed to do one of those “There has been a war. All the people in the world have died with the exception of the following 11. As a result of the war the land is not suitable to live on so the people must find a new location to live. They have managed to find an underground place where they can survive until the land is again ok to live on. There is a problem however: this underground place can only support five people. Your job is to decide which five of the following eleven get to live and which six get to die. You must be able to explain your answers.” I have done this exercise a few times—at leadership conferences or at work trainings. It usually led to some interesting discussion (and typically some guilt), but for the most part, consensus was fairly easily reached. I was always performing the exercise with people of the same culture, who have the same values base and a relatively similar education as me. This day was quite different. I’ll spare you the literal play-by-play, but I’ll give you the highlights. Basically, Americans chose their five based on their education and contribution to the gene pool—we focused on diversifying and thus breaking up families. Tanzanians, however, focused more on the social aspect. Their first choice was the Catholic priest. This made no sense to us Americans, of course. He can’t even help repopulate the earth, for pete’s sake! But the science wasn’t the focus for them. They also chose to keep families intact, thus choosing 3 people of one family—one a baby. Soooo we’re talking about a priest and a baby repopulating the earth…but that didn’t matter to them. It was about keeping the family units intact. Having spiritually healthy, productive people. One of the most interesting characters in the bunch was Miss White. Miss White was sexually abused as a child, divorced her husband due to physical abuse, and worked two jobs (including bartending at night). In the eyes of an American, Miss White is strong. She’s a fighter. She’s also young and fertile. We love her. The Tanzanians were whole-heartedly against her. She must have been a temptress when she was young. She must have been a bad wife. What could she have done to bother her husband so much? And really, only prostitutes are bartenders! Gender also played an interesting role, although a slightly more subtle role. The Americans chose three women and two men, because fewer men are biologically needed to repopulate the earth. The Tanzanians in my group chose three men and two women, one of them being an infant. While we kept arguing that the baby was a dumb choice, some Tanzanians (people who know the hard, farming life) pointed out that we chose an older, educated man. Who would do the work? This made me literally laugh out loud (I kept pretty quiet or tried to play the peacemaker during the whole session), because if you walk down the road in Tanzanian, 80% of the people that you see working in the fields are not men—they’re women. Young and old. Strong lean arms and white hair peaking out the bottom of their colorful headwraps. Backs flat and strong with a sleeping baby bound securely. Backs hunched with age and hard work. Who will do they work? Miss White. Miss White will! BAH. As I talked with my site mate Bret before his PEPFAR training in March, I told him the best session by far at my conference was the cross-cultural session, and so when that day arrived at his conference I received numerous text messages from him. I was not shocked to hear that his group had chosen very similar people to mine and they were equally as shocked by the Tanzanians seemingly crazy and illogical choices as we were. It was crazy how one hour taught me so much about a culture I’ve spent the last 9 months in and even more frighteningly a culture I’ve spent the last 24 years in. I’ve always considered myself compassionate and relational…not rationally or scientifically, driven. And yet I too chose survivors based on intelligence, education, and their contribution to the gene pool. Young man with questionable character? Yup, we need him for his sperm. Compassionate, old priest who opened an orphanage for HIV/AIDS orphans. Heck no! What can he give to the gene pool? I mean, maybe Miss White can seduce him, but then he’ll probably lose his faith and what good will a whiny, defeated, guilty old man do? Mentally handicapped child? GONE. Baby? GONE. Well educated, middle aged woman who’s got an impressive resume of gifts to society, but is potentially infertile…? GONE. Most of the PCVs I did this exercise with were shocked by the differences in the Tanzanian and American approach, but I’m not sure how many thought to look critically at who we had chosen. I know there’s no good or right answer for this kind of thing, but can we judge the values behind the choices? Can we judge or own love affair with science and rationality? Where has the compassion and commitment to family and faith and the higher things gone in our culture?
Hmm…I’d love to keep telling you stories, but it’s probably time to shut up. I’ll try and be a bit more timely with my next entry and then I won’t have to write a book again. Thanks to all who plowed through this beast of a blog. Hope you enjoyed. Take care! Happy Easter!
Before arriving in TZ when I imagined my PC experience here’s a few thoughts that came to my mind: hippies, loneliness, simplicity, “roughing it,” dangerous, hot, defined, and “eye-opening.” If this sounds about right to you…read on…you’ll likely be quite surprised.
HIPPIES. As I stood behind the bar at Locomotions struggling to explain to the patrons (aka the locals) why I was joining the PC, I got mixed responses. Some were very supportive. Impressed by my compassion. Envious of my bravery. (Those people certainly gave my ego a good stroke). Then there were others who thought I was down right stupid. Finally, there was a last group. These folks didn’t say much, but I could read their thoughts in their glassy eyes and their reluctant smiles. Some even shook their heads. “Ah…to be young and naive,” they seemed to say. Or simply, “Crazy hippy.” Yeah, I’ll admit it. Even I figured every PC volunteer was a crazy hippy before I arrived at staging in Washington, DC (except me of course, but I’m different. Ha, again with the ego). Yup, I thought I’d stumble into a small group of young, radical, tree-hugging psychedelics. I was pretty shocked to walk into a room full of 49 ridiculously diverse individuals. Ages 21-69 were represented. Single folks and a married couple. A mess of different religions (even a few I’ve never heard of) and a few different colors and sexual orientations. But on top of the diversity that I should have expected from a group of Americans our size, I was shocked by the stereotypical personalities as well. Who would have guessed I’d be joined by stillhetto-loving sorority girls, rugged mountain men, educated professionals, world travelers, crazy partiers, and class clowns. I guess I was smart enough to know not everyone would be like me, but I had the completely wrong picture of what they’d be like. And beyond that—I was an absolute failure at guessing who’d “make it” and who’d really be a great volunteer. Some of the people that I read as “class clowns” (aka goof-offs) are amazingly creative and insightful volunteers. Girls that I picked as wussy or prissy turned out to survive siafu (killer ants) attacks and cockroaches as big as my thumb. Ha, so yeah. Lesson learned. We’re a diverse bunch and truly each of us brings a different worldview and a different set of skills to the table in our very different situations. So that being said, in my attempt to describe to you a brief (well, probably not…you know me) picture of the PC Experience, bear in mind this is only a snap shot of my experience.
Ok, Chapter 2. LONELINESS. I remember lying on the bed in my dorm room listening to Switchfoot basically balling like a baby. I had just finished my PC application and I was just really being hit by the fact that I was going to spend the next 2 years of my life living by myself in a village on the other side of the world from all my family and friends. It was an excellent release, I’ll admit….although slightly embarrassing when my roommate walked in. Anyway, I was only half right that day. I am indeed ridiculously far away from my family and closest friends. Some days the separation is killer. I just “want my mommy” or want to go crazy at my friend’s bachelorette party or hold my friend in a rough time, or help my girl move into her new apartment. I long to be there for the people I love—in the good times and the bad, but sometimes I miss the little things too. I just want to talk about the good ol’ days over strawberry daiquiris with the girls or shuck sweet corn and ride in the car with mom or listen to my brother’s band in a stuffy bar in downtown Albany (long live Badgerpants). Yes, it’s hard to be away, but I do my best to let people know I care and so do all of you. The half that I was wrong about was that I’d be alone here. WRONG. First of all, as I mentioned earlier I came here with an awesome group of people (7 have now gone home and their absence is certainly felt). These people serve in various capacities of friendship, enlightenment, encouragement, guidance, and inspiration. They are my family on holidays. My girls as we get ready to go out. My spiritual counselors. And simply friends. I may see a large group at holidays or birthday celebrations, every month or two. But we are linked by, yes, technology. Most of us have cell phones and decent service at site so we can be in contact multiple times a day. This can help us through hard times, but it can occasionally jade us against Tanzanians and their culture too. Even beyond being in phone contact with other volunteers, I was placed within an hour drive of one other American volunteer and an hour walk of another. That means that when I need to “get away” there’s always a mzungu (Foreigner) nearby who will listen to my problems or simply help me escape back to another world. We Makete volunteers are all excellent cooks and thanks to family and friends at home one of us always has a ready supply of chocolate or oreos for a dire circumstance. Is this bad? No, I don’t think so. I’m pretty blessed by the relationships I’ve made with other PCVs. I not only am privy to my own insights and struggles, but theirs as well. However, my expectation of this experience was me—totally and utterly submerged in a community and culture different than mine. Some other volunteers testify that this is indeed the case at their sites, but it’s not true for me and really it’s not true for the country at large. Tanzania is crawling with foreigners—Americans, Europeans, even Latin Americans and Asians. They’re aid workers, like me, tourists, business people, and students. Did I really think I was so special as to be the lone white face here (that is how it is in the movies, after all). No, I’m not alone here. And sometimes I feel guilty for the time I spend with my friends here (a sensation new to me), but then I try to remind myself that all the people here are gifts from God and to be valued. I also try and continue to cultivate friendships with the Tanzanians in my village. Tanzanians are a loving, welcoming, generous people. Everywhere I’ve lived I’ve been adopted by at least one family. My Tanzanian mamas are always proud of me and of their highly esteemed position. They ask if I have told my “real” mom about them. I don’t really know if they want her to feel comforted or jealous. Probably both. Anyway, I’m blessed with dotting daddies, mamas who make sure I’m home at night and that I don’t go to sleep without a full belly, little brothers who provide me with endless laughter and TLC for my precious bicycle, and finally sisters who grant me entry into their lives and bless me with girl-talk and fashion tips. Tanzanians are shocked when I tell them I live alone, but really if I’m ever alone, it’s by choice. There’s always a chair by the fire for me in mama’s kitchen. That being said, I sometimes still struggle with the realization that while I have a family here, “friends” are a bit harder to come by. I think that’s partly because friendship is so based on communication. For my first couple of months here my communication abilities were slim to nil. Eventually, I became fluent in work and everyday discourse, but real friendships aren’t built on “where you from?” and “where ya headed?” It’s tortuous when you know two words for semen and two more for orgasm (comes with the territory when you’re a health teacher), but you can’t ask someone about their relationship with their husband or boyfriend. Even now as my fluency in Kiswahili grows I’m realizing that the language of “girl-talk” here is not Kiswahili, it’s Kikinga or Kimahanji, the tribal languages spoken in my area. So, once again I’m defeated. And that leads to another issue. In TZ women and men aren’t really friends. I guess it’s acceptable in certain contexts—work environments or relatives, but for the most part, the genders are separated—literally. They do different work. They sit on opposite sides of the room at church or at village meetings. They wear very different clothes. So unless I want the rumors flying about my promiscuity, it’s best to stick to girlfriends. Fine with me, mostly. I like Tanzanian women. The mamas are the warmest women you’ll ever meet. Girls my age, on the other hand…they’re a different story. They intimidate the hell out of me. We’re talking strong women. They’re bonded by hardships and experiences I don’t understand. Most women my age are mothers. Most married. Most farmers. They’re tough. They’re proud. I think though in some ways they’re as intimidated by me as I am by them. I’m white—and therefore beautiful ( a point I will fight them on until the day I leave. Seriously. These girls are stunning. They just can’t see it). Plus, I’m educated. A feat most of the women remaining in village can’t claim. So where are we? I’m scared of them and they’re scared of me. Basically, I try and smile and small talk them up—everyday. J It can be tiring and frustrating, but I can see the walls are starting to fall and friendships are starting to really blossom. So…the question remains…am I lonely? And the resounding answer…not in the least (although I’ll be happy to admit that I’m discovering more and more my introverted side).
SIMPLICITY. When I read Foster’s Celebration of Discipline in my sophomore year of college (Thanks Prof Wally), I learned that simplicity is a Christian discipline. When I returned to college my senior year after spending a semester in Africa, it was a discipline I spent a lot of time struggling with. I turned to my Ugandan Studies Program professor for advice as I drowned in guilt and frustration. He comforted me that I can’t feel guilty over the complexity of my life due to my culture. He reminded me that I have to make a ridiculous amount of decisions—many of them small and relatively insignificant, others quite large and monumental—but all of them blessing and curses stemming from my culture. Here I expected to be able to enter the “simple” lives of my Tanzanian neighbors simply because of my locative position (Note: I don’t mean simple as in ignorant, but as in uncluttered). However, I am quickly learning that simplicity doesn’t come from the outside, but from the inside. My Tanzanian friends have basically the same access to food stuffs that I do (although I can go to the city and buy soy sauce and cocoa powder), but while they have a handful of staple meals, I am constantly trying new things. It’s likely my diet is more diverse here than it was in America. Even my house is a testament to my cluttered culture. First of all, my house is probably on the nicer side of PC abodes. It’s definitely the biggest house in my village and I live alone. But beyond that, it’s newly painted and slowly filling with nice furniture, carpets, pictures, matching curtains, and various other clutter. It’s beautiful. And it makes me feel comfortable and at home. The desire for that is no different from my Tanzanian friends. They too decorate their houses. The difference is that my house looks like my idea of a nice home and I’ve spent thousands of shillings doing it. Mix-matched material; clashing colors; cell phone ads and various other newspaper clippings in unknown languages; unframed, faded pictures; large posters of Asian babies, white people eating grapes, or various rappers; mats hung on the wall; and various sayings about hospitality or religion, are not my ideas of decoration. My rooms have color themes. Kids have to take off their shoes before coming in the house (partly because I’m too lazy to clean every day and partly because I like it clean). My house is much larger than I need. It’s excessive really. But I can’t help that. What I’ve done with it on the inside, however, is under my control. And while I don’t really feel guilty for my nesting activities, I can’t say I’m now a shining example of the discipline of simplicity either. And what about money? I often get frustrated trying to explain to people that while I’m white I’m really not all that rich. I explain that I just finished college and had a lot of loans and that now I’m a volunteer. They usually get that message, but that leads to two other complications. First, what “Volunteer” makes more per month than everyone else in town? With the less than $200 I make per month for living expenses, I am still the richest person in town. And even beyond that, if I ever really needed money I could get it from my rich friends and family in America. I get frustrated with that one, but in ways I know they’re right. I try to use my frustration and guilt as a catalyst for good decision making with my finances. Do I really need to use the internet? Do I really need to go to town for shopping or to visit friends? Do I really need a beer? Do I need 4 different kinds of veggies for one week? Do I need to eat meat this week? Do I need to send all these text messages? Can I mend this skirt myself instead of going to a fundi? Do I need electricity? Should I give loans? Should I help orphans with their school fees? Coming here didn’t simplify my rich American lifestyle in the least. If anything it may have complicated it. Not that I have more decisions to make, it’s just that now they all seem a little more drastic and dramatic. The houses made of mud and dung are next door. The 6-year-old on ARVs is smiling with rotting teeth, waiting for me on my doorstep. The reality of the world doesn’t hit me when I see a Christian Children Fund Commercial or at a World Vision plug at a rock concert. No, it hits me some days as the sunrises and I squat on my toilet or start my charcoal stove. No, life is definitely not simpler for me here. Not in the easy way I hoped, at least. I recently got my hands on Foster’s book again to do as a devotion with a friend. Hopefully I’ll get something new from it this time that I couldn’t see before.
Chapter 4. Before I arrived at site, I thought PC was all about “roughing it.” I’ve had friends tell me in personal letters that they think living without running water, electricity, a toilet, a shower, and a computer is beyond their capacity (although I have a pretty sweet pocket camping shower, thanks mom! And I often use Bret’s computer). These are things I don’t even think twice about anymore (and actually while I was staying at a nice motel a few weeks ago I longed to squat to go to the bathroom)! I have nice clothes, delicious food, and a comfortable house. It’s far from “roughing it.” That being said, I don’t farm everyday (I tried it a few days—it was Fing hard, pardon my language) like my Tanzanian neighbors. Now it’s the rainy season so I don’t have to chote water. The only physical demands I have are walking all over creation and doing some house chores. My life isn’t that hard. I could even afford to pay people to do the little amount of work I do actually do. No, I’m not roughing it. Cell phones and Internet are available. During my training in January, our Country Director (the CD or head honcho) and Programming and Training Officer (PTO and #2) were giving us a bit of a lecture about our reliance on cell phones. It kinda had a “in my day we had to walk up hill to school in three feet of snow both ways” kind of ring, but afterwards I was feeling slightly jealous (those women were real PC volunteers, I thought) and also slightly guilty. The CD described lying on her living room floor, sure she was dying, hoping someone would come check on her. These days, I can call the medical officer if my sniffles last an unusually long time. I can relate in detail my most recent bowel movement to all my friends via text. Isolation is not a part of my experience. Am I jealous of these pioneering volunteers? A little, yes. Should I feel guilty thought? No, I really don’t think so. I can’t help it that TZ is progressing. I can’t help it that cell phones and internet are a part of life for a lot of people here. However, I do appreciate the thought. I have now tried to reduce my cell phone use and be more dependent on the Tanzanians close to me, God, and even myself. But am I really “roughing it?” Nope. I talk to my parents on the phone and eat brownies while listening to my ipod on battery powered speakers. I’m not roughing it, but I am learning to live with a foot in each world. A state that while ideally is frustrating and sometimes disconcerting, is part of my job and just an excepted part of my experience now. I fax reports, communicate with my boss via email, and post web blogs. I also chote water, wash my clothes by hand, and walk about an hour to work almost every day. Maybe I am roughing it. You’re free to judge.
DANGER! As I read the literature from PC, I’ll admit I was terrified by the frequency of muggings, attacks, rapes, and even murders among PCVs. I was nervous amount transportation. I was absolutely paranoid about HIV and a slew of other diseases, parasites, and poisonous creepy-crawlies. While granted, these are all real threats in TZ, most days I feel absolutely perfectly safe. My neighbors (and Salome our Safety and Security Officer) watch my back and most icky creepy crawlies don’t like the cold weather of Kitula (although I do now have a rat! Eek! And my grandma is now in the hospital from a poisonous snake bite). However, I’ll admit that I split my money when I travel, never walk alone at night, and say a prayer every time I travel. Accidents happen everywhere. Bad people are in TZ just like they’re in America. So, yeah, maybe life is a bit more dangerous here, but I don’t lose sleep over it.
HOT! Some of you are probably tired of hearing me whine about this so I’ll try and keep this part brief. Basically, I hate winter. I hate being cold. I love flip flops and swimming and strolling in the spring. One of the main selling points of PC TZ was that I thought I’d be escaping the ungodly climate of NY. However, I’ve managed to land myself in one of the coldest parts of TZ. I’ve finally kicked the nasty cold I had for most of February. I’ve started wearing a winter coat (yep, I have a sweet, yellow puff-coat I found at a used clothing market in Iringa town. Best 4,500 shillings I ever spent. More importantly, I’ve stopped being a slave to fashion and comfort. Now, almost everyday, on my feet I am wearing wool socks and rain boots (thanks mom)! Turns out covering my chest and having warm, dry feet does wonders. Whenever I start complaining about the cold my TZ friends remind me of the stories I’ve told them of snow storms, snow shoveling, and snow days. I reluctantly shut up, but I tend to find myself muttering something under my breath about central heating, pants, and cars. Soon the rainy season will be over, but then the cold kicks in (yup, in June when y’all are warming up it’ll start getting cold here) and I’ll have to chote water again. I think I’ll just try and sell myself on the notion that my rain boots are adorable and that I love that it rains everyday (even though I just want to get back in bed and read or snuggle and watch a movie). HA. Expectations. This one probably pisses me off the most… J
Chapter…oh who knows? WELL DEFINED. As I imagined PC, between shifts at my various and in sundry jobs since finishing college, I always imagined it to be a job like any other job I’ve ever had. I didn’t really ponder the idea. It was a simple assumption. I blindly assumed that this job, like every other, would have clearly defined hours, policies, guidelines, responsibilities, etc. I suppose I was right about the policies (PC is a branch of the American bureaucracy, after all), but I think I grossly over estimated my ability to hop right into my responsibilities. I’ve never really had a job that defeated me mentally or physically. I’ve always been able to play the part—or at least for a little while. But here, without a solid foundation of language, I lacked the self confidence I’ve always taken for granted. This can be quite unsettling when speeches and teaching are at the core of your job. And beyond that, I thought PC would more heavily define my role in my community, whereas in reality, it’s me upon who the burden falls to analyze my community’s needs and then work to meet them in anyway I can. WHAT?! Seriously, this aspect of my work here is much more overwhelming that I expected. I’ve never really been so aware of my lack of creativity before I tried to do this job. Honestly, it’s a bit disconcerting (and definitely humbling) to not be able to quickly master my job. But I’m learning to believe in myself once again and more importantly, I’m learning to rely on the creativity, wisdom, and resources of others in a way I never have before. It’s hard and again I’ll say it—humbling, but for all my personal trials and tribulations, I think in the end my community will benefit and so will I. But certainly my job and my performance don’t at all fit my initial expectations.
(Just for the record, I’m writing this by hand, by the light of a kerosene lantern. It’s now around 9:30 and I’ve been working on this since 6. I’ve taken a few breaks to rest my hand and/or to eat straight guacamole or dark chocolate, a bar I’ve been hoarding for months (thanks grandma)! I’m pretty much exhausted now. Don’t know if it’s because it’s so dark and quiet (the only sounds I hear are crickets and the ticking of my wind-up alarm clock in the next room) or because I walked like 6 km today and woke up at 6:15).
Ah…so…one final chapter. Has my PC experience been the “eye-opening” turning point in my life that I expected? Is it the burning bush of my life to tell me which direction to start heading in career-wise? The unfortunate answer is…nope. Unfortunately, at this point I’m just as confused as ever. Which is frustrating, but I guess I should have known. I suppose it’s still fairly early on anyway. Maybe something will suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks…but until that day…I’ll just keep taking it one day at a time…one step at a time.
I don’t know how much this has cleared up the PC experience for you. Probably not much at all, but hopefully you had some fun reading it. I know it’s been helpful for me to look back to those expectations because sometimes I can identify a source of guilt, concern, worry, or frustration that lies within me, not within the Tanzanian culture or even my day to day experiences. I also have a few random stories, updates, and announcements you might be interested in, so if you have the time and stamina…feel free to read on.
For Mrs. Zacchos and Lisa and anyone else who cares what I’ve been reading, here are the few titles I can remember since the last time I wrote:
· After Dachau by Daniel Quinn
· All About Love: New Visions by Bell Hooks (Thanks Jana!)
· Memories of my Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
· Wind In the Willows by Kenneth Graham ?
· The Alchemist by Pablo Coehlo ?
· Captivating by John and Staci Eldridge
· The Sex Lives of Cannibals by J. Maarten Troost
· Telling Secrets by Frederick Buechner
· Lamb by Christopher Moore
For those of you are sick of hearing about what I’m reading and where I’m traveling, here’s a summary of what actual work I’m now doing. In the past few weeks I have been verrrry busy! I am proud. J My counterpart and I have finished digging about half of my sizable garden, which will soon be planted with some seasonal vegetables that I will eat and will be able to offer to community members who have little to no food due to HIV/AIDS and other issues. I am now teaching life skills formally at two schools. I teach 5 periods at a secondary school about an hour walk away. The curriculum I am teaching is interesting, important, and a lot of fun. First I will teach about HIV/AIDS and other STDs to make sure my students have a solid factual base to stand on, but then the really important part of the program kicks in. The main body of life skills has to do with teaching communication skills, relationship skills, and decision making skills. The rationale behind the program is that a lack of knowledge is not what is causing HIV/AIDS to spread through Africa and other parts of the world like wildfire. The lack of equality between genders, the lack of ability to negotiate, and the lack foresight to plan for the future, are huge obstacles that need to be tackled to stop the spread of HIV. How do we prevent women from being infected by their husbands? Slap men on the hand when they’re getting drunk or give endless seminars about condoms? No! We teach women that they are equal in intelligence and ability and should have a right to discuss and have an equal say in sexual matters. How do we encourage condom use? Hand out a million condoms? No! We teach women and men how to negotiate condom use. How do we get people to think how their actions will affect their health, their dreams, and their families? Do we show them videos and guilt them into change? No! We teach them about goal setting and encourage responsible decision making. And as I say “them,” over and over again, I am focusing especially on young people. Young people are impressionable, powerful, and bright. They can ask questions. They can change the future.
I also teach a modified life skills program to elementary school students that has a slightly different focus. There are chapters about bullying, disabilities, HIV/AIDS, and decision making. At the primary school I only teach fifth graders, as two teachers already went to a seminar about life skills and are now teaching the curriculum to their sixth and seventh grade classrooms as well. Sometimes I wish I could teach these classes, but I am very happy that these teachers are teaching these students. Not only can they communicate better than I, but they too are getting passionate about my subject matter…so I certainly don’t complain.
I also am a “guest teacher” at another near-by secondary school. At this school I try and give a weekly presentation on a variety of topics, including life skills, HIV/AIDS, and STDs. Also at this school there are already students who have attended a seminar about life skills and are teaching their peers. Sometimes it frustrates me that I cannot teach the classes myself or that the students are confident without my help, but again I am happy that they are taking the initiative and getting a great experience. I also get frustrated because I never really know what to teach about, I don’t have a set plan for this school, but I am beginning to have fun and enjoy the freedom, and I truly enjoy seeing these bright and energetic students once a week.
Now that I have a more set schedule, I am deciding whether I want to extend my teaching to more schools (I really am loving teaching), but I think maybe I should take advantage of the gaps in my schedule (they are necessary for prep as well…it’s definitely not easy to teach in Swahili) but I also think having an opportunity to work on secondary projects is really important. Right now I have Fridays completely free so I am trying to spend some time at the hospital and the adjoining orphanage. I am not sure how my role will play out in these arenas, but I think it’s important to have my presence there as often as possible. Maybe at some point they will see a need where I can truly help them. I also want to have time to begin my PLWHAs group (People Living with HIV/AIDS) and to begin work with the out-of-school youth. My counterpart and I are currently working on long and short term plans for these projects.
Finally, another part of my work is now taking shape. My community asked me to write a grant in order to build bathroom facilities for the primary school where I teach. I was not psyched about the idea, to be honest. First of all, it came up just days before our grant deadline, and ever since junior year of college I haven’t been one for cramming. Next, I was hoping to avoid a building project at all costs, building projects are long, expensive, stressful, and in some cases, unsuccessful. Finally, I really didn’t like the idea of building pit latrines. In my typical American fashion, I was not excited about doing a project that wasn’t “new and improved” or “state of the art.” BUT, as I began writing this grant, I became really excited about the project. First, I began to see the huge health benefits building new toilets would have on the community. I also was excited to do this project because it is actually a really important step in development being pushed in the area, and so what better way for me to show my backing then to support the building of latrines at the school? Finally, I was really excited by the participation I received from my Tanzanian counterparts. This isn’t really just a project that I want to do. It’s something important. It’s something they care about. It’s something they’re taking ownership of. If you are interested in hearing more about my grant or you would like to help contribute please let me know. I should be receiving a link from the PC in the near future, and I truly cannot do this project without the support of people at home.
Ok…another silly thing. Here’s a list of new foods I’ve successfully created (often with the help of friends)
· Pirogues
· Mom’s potato salad
· Homemade baked beans (Thanks Mama Chris!)
· Chocolate Éclair Cake
· Cheeseburgers (with homemade buns and HEINZ Ketshup)!
· Peanut Noodles
· Chili and cornbread
· Spaghetti
· Pizza
· Pasta Primavera (that’s the cheesy kind, right?)
· Bagels
· Perfect Omlettes (yes, I’m bragging)
· Banana Pancakes
· Crepes with melted Hershey Kisses (maybe not a culinary masterpiece…but pretty darn delicious)
· Mango wine
Hungry? Running for some snack food (mmm…Doritos and ice cream and diet soda)? No problem. I’m about to completely change the subject.
It’s very rarely that I do something and then think…man, I should write a blog about that. Obviously, I’m not the best blogger, as you can see from the date of my last entry. But, while I was at my PEPFAR training in Iringa in January, one of the sessions really stood out to me. I immediately thought. Gotta blog about this one. The session was on the topic of Crossing Cultures and identifying different values. When I saw the topic on our schedule I was slightly disappointed. I assumed it would be another boring session complete with endless definitions and truly very little content. What I experienced was quite different. First, they split us American volunteers apart from our Tanzanian counterparts—which surprised me quite a bit to be honest. Then we were each instructed to do one of those “There has been a war. All the people in the world have died with the exception of the following 11. As a result of the war the land is not suitable to live on so the people must find a new location to live. They have managed to find an underground place where they can survive until the land is again ok to live on. There is a problem however: this underground place can only support five people. Your job is to decide which five of the following eleven get to live and which six get to die. You must be able to explain your answers.” I have done this exercise a few times—at leadership conferences or at work trainings. It usually led to some interesting discussion (and typically some guilt), but for the most part, consensus was fairly easily reached. I was always performing the exercise with people of the same culture, who have the same values base and a relatively similar education as me. This day was quite different. I’ll spare you the literal play-by-play, but I’ll give you the highlights. Basically, Americans chose their five based on their education and contribution to the gene pool—we focused on diversifying and thus breaking up families. Tanzanians, however, focused more on the social aspect. Their first choice was the Catholic priest. This made no sense to us Americans, of course. He can’t even help repopulate the earth, for pete’s sake! But the science wasn’t the focus for them. They also chose to keep families intact, thus choosing 3 people of one family—one a baby. Soooo we’re talking about a priest and a baby repopulating the earth…but that didn’t matter to them. It was about keeping the family units intact. Having spiritually healthy, productive people. One of the most interesting characters in the bunch was Miss White. Miss White was sexually abused as a child, divorced her husband due to physical abuse, and worked two jobs (including bartending at night). In the eyes of an American, Miss White is strong. She’s a fighter. She’s also young and fertile. We love her. The Tanzanians were whole-heartedly against her. She must have been a temptress when she was young. She must have been a bad wife. What could she have done to bother her husband so much? And really, only prostitutes are bartenders! Gender also played an interesting role, although a slightly more subtle role. The Americans chose three women and two men, because fewer men are biologically needed to repopulate the earth. The Tanzanians in my group chose three men and two women, one of them being an infant. While we kept arguing that the baby was a dumb choice, some Tanzanians (people who know the hard, farming life) pointed out that we chose an older, educated man. Who would do the work? This made me literally laugh out loud (I kept pretty quiet or tried to play the peacemaker during the whole session), because if you walk down the road in Tanzanian, 80% of the people that you see working in the fields are not men—they’re women. Young and old. Strong lean arms and white hair peaking out the bottom of their colorful headwraps. Backs flat and strong with a sleeping baby bound securely. Backs hunched with age and hard work. Who will do they work? Miss White. Miss White will! BAH. As I talked with my site mate Bret before his PEPFAR training in March, I told him the best session by far at my conference was the cross-cultural session, and so when that day arrived at his conference I received numerous text messages from him. I was not shocked to hear that his group had chosen very similar people to mine and they were equally as shocked by the Tanzanians seemingly crazy and illogical choices as we were. It was crazy how one hour taught me so much about a culture I’ve spent the last 9 months in and even more frighteningly a culture I’ve spent the last 24 years in. I’ve always considered myself compassionate and relational…not rationally or scientifically, driven. And yet I too chose survivors based on intelligence, education, and their contribution to the gene pool. Young man with questionable character? Yup, we need him for his sperm. Compassionate, old priest who opened an orphanage for HIV/AIDS orphans. Heck no! What can he give to the gene pool? I mean, maybe Miss White can seduce him, but then he’ll probably lose his faith and what good will a whiny, defeated, guilty old man do? Mentally handicapped child? GONE. Baby? GONE. Well educated, middle aged woman who’s got an impressive resume of gifts to society, but is potentially infertile…? GONE. Most of the PCVs I did this exercise with were shocked by the differences in the Tanzanian and American approach, but I’m not sure how many thought to look critically at who we had chosen. I know there’s no good or right answer for this kind of thing, but can we judge the values behind the choices? Can we judge or own love affair with science and rationality? Where has the compassion and commitment to family and faith and the higher things gone in our culture?
Hmm…I’d love to keep telling you stories, but it’s probably time to shut up. I’ll try and be a bit more timely with my next entry and then I won’t have to write a book again. Thanks to all who plowed through this beast of a blog. Hope you enjoyed. Take care! Happy Easter!
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