A Late Post and an Early Valentine :-)

Roses are red….violets are blue. Spring always comes late to New York….and Jess’s blogs do too.

Haha. I couldn’t bear to start another blog apologizing for my blog being so late in coming. It’s a good thing I have dad to remind me every month or so when my last blog was written and Mrs. Zaccos to remind him! I personally can’t figure out why blogs are all the rage. They lack the privacy of a dairy and the response of a letter. Is my generation really so cut off from the world that we need to pour our thoughts into cyber space to feel like someone’s listening? Do we crave so much to be heard that we don’t even care if there’s a response. A relationship? I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t knock blogs. I mean, in what other way would mom’s co-workers know about my time here? In what other way would my high school teachers and extended relatives get a peak into my life here? It takes a lot of time to write letters (and then I have to worry about them surviving all the way to America). And it takes just as much effort to get on a computer and write emails (and God only knows when the electricity and the internet will be cooperating with me on the same day). Back in the old days of Peace Corps volunteers were pretty much cut off from the world. Mom and dad couldn’t call on holidays—because there were no cell phones. Friends couldn’t write emails or post on Facebook—because there was no internet. In college Dr. Stewart always reminded us to reflect on whether or not technological advancement is good. There seems to always be an assumption that it is. I wonder in this case if it’s true. I mean, if I were cut off completely from the US, I would be able to dive completely into my life here. I’d focus on the relationships here. I’d work through the issues of life with my friends here. I’d care about the news of here. I would be fully and utterly here. In all likelihood, that kind of focus and dedication would probably make me a better volunteer. A better member of this community. But is that the only goal of Peace Corps?
For those of you who don’t know much about Peace Corps. This is an organization with three main goals. They are roughly, 1) To provide education and human capital to help aid development. 2) To help promote a better understanding of the American people on the part of the peoples served. 3) To help promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of the American people. Part of my aim in writing this blog is to help my friends and family back home have a better understanding of the amazing culture I am experiencing here in Tanzania. I hope that I’m somehow reaching that goal and if there is anything you ever want to know more about, please…PLEASE let me know!

Beyond that, I’m personally thankful to have a blog to write in. I feel like I’m only really exposing the very tip of the iceberg of what I’m experiencing here, but it seems that if I can share that tip of the iceberg with people even while I’m still here there will be a greater common ground to stand on when I get home. A place to start the conversation. Because let’s be honest, if I get home and have to answer questions like, “So…how was it?” I’m gonna be stumped.

Ha. I’m not really sure where this rant came from. I didn’t have it in mind when I planned this blog, but I suppose it sheds some light on why my blog entries are always so late. I guess what it boils down to is this: it’s hard to hold a one-way conversation, but in this circumstance I have hope that the occasional effort I put in will help you gain a small insight into another fascinating place in this big world, but will also help me when I come home to be a place to start talking and to pick up long-unattended to relationships. So I guess I’ll move on now, but I guess I should also quickly say thank you. Thank you for taking the time to learn about someplace so far and remote from you while you’re in the midst of your busy life. And thank you for caring enough about me to take the time to read my hideously long entries. I look forward to seeing ya’ll in person again and having a good chat.

Now….on to the meat. I bet your asking yourself what in the world I’ve been up to the last few months. Here’s a bit of a rundown.

For those of you who initially thought I sounded “bored” in Tanzania (Aunt Martha, Uncle Bill!), you’ll be happy to know that work is keeping me quite busy these days! November was an incredibly busy month for me. Since the Tanzanian school year runs from January-December (unlike our September-June set up) I was very busy trying to finish the HIV/AIDS portion of the secondary school life skills curriculum with my students before they finished began their finals and headed home. I did manage to finish the entire HIV/AIDS portion of the curriculum (including facts and myths about HIV/AIDS, the immune system, HIV transmission, the relationship between STDs and HIV, women and HIV, HIV prevention methods, disease progression and positive behaviors, HIV treatment, human rights, and behavior change), so that was really exciting! Next we’ll be moving on to communication skills. Since I studied communication in college and well….since I love to talk….I’m really looking forward to starting that chapter this month! My fifth graders (the only students I taught on the primary level) have no covered chapters on bullies, handicaps, HIV/AIDS, sexual abuse, and general safety. I’m not sure yet if the school principal wants me to move on with these students to sixth grade and finish the chapters on puberty, life changes (good and bad—a very important topic here with the amount of HIV/AIDS), and human rights and responsibilities. I’m very much in love with these students so I’d love to move on with them, but I also think it would be fun to have a new class. I guess I’ll just let the principal make the call.

The choos (rhymes with toes not too) are coming along well. We’ve hit the occasional roadblocks, but I’m trying to remain positive. The rainy season has indeed started, but the teachers, the school building committee, the craftsman, and the parents, all seem eager to continue. I hope they will be done soon! I’ll keep you all updated. In the meantime here are some pictures to let you see the process. As you can see the walls are finished and the roof is on. They have begun applying cement to the inside of the walls and inserting the window frames as well. The plan is that the entire building will be done this week minus the floor because the school committee is considering buying ceramic sinks for each stall instead of making them out of cement as originally planned. Ones the floors are done we’ll just be waiting on the village to dig the hole for the tank! It’s been a pretty stressful under-taking thus far, but it’s also amazing to see something go from the abstract planning stage to physical manifestation before your eyes. I think especially here where so much of my work’s benefits are invisible, I take a lot of pride and happiness in seeing something tangible come to be thanks to the combined efforts of my family and friends at home and here in my village.

My PLWHAs group, Upendo, is continuing to progress really well. I’m really proud of all they’ve accomplished since we began just over six months ago. Our garden is looking GREAT as you can see from the pictures! It’s pretty amazing that we get fresh greens and tomatoes enough for everyone in our group every two weeks! They are also really hoping to extend the garden and add more crops. In December we started giving microloans to group members. I made them wait until the monthly contributions were in and they had all sat through educational seminars and planning meetings. It was a pretty joyous day when I finally put the money in their hands! It will be very interesting to see what they are able to do with these small loans (all under $20). Last week group members also participated in a workshop on how to properly raise chickens. There’s a lot of chicken farming here, but because people do not know how to properly care for their chickens many get sick, die, or don’t produce a lot of eggs. This workshop was the first step in a PEPFAR grant I wrote to benefit the members of Upendo. Currently we are buying the supplies and making plans to build a banda ya kuku or chicken coop for every household in the group! The members are absolutely ready to move forward, but due to the rise of prices of building supplies during the rainy season, I’m a bit hesitant to get started. My supervisor Stewart Lupembe is a livestock expert and is helping me tremendously with this project. I’m sure as soon as we work out the kinks due to the price fluctuations we’ll be good to go! I think the thing that is exciting me most about Upendo now is that the members are now really starting to take responsibility for the group. They sometimes come with ideas or lessons to share or encouragement for the group. I can honestly say that the members of Upendo help get me through the occasional frustrations that I deal with here. They are an amazing group of people.
That being said, we as a group just went through a great loss as we lost our first group member to AIDS. Somedays I am able to harden and do my work more clinically here, but as I sat in Yuvilati’s kitchen and cried with her mom and sister whom she left behind, my work suddenly became very personal again. As I sat in that funeral I had a hard time focusing on the words I was singing. I was thinking more about what I could have done differently. Could I have visited her more in the hospital? Could I have spent more time at her home? Was there something I should have taught about? Was there something I was too scared to say? To busy? It’s funny how self-centered I get at a funeral. Is that human nature in general or just me? I either find myself thinking about what I would do if I lost a loved one or what I could have done differently in my relationship with that person. Maybe that’s selfish, but maybe it’s good. Maybe that keeps life in perspective for us. Maybe it helps push us forward. Maybe it helps us keep our minds on what really matters. I’ll be honest, while I was thinking about what really mattered I started to wonder if there is really any other work that I’ll have in my life that is more important than this. I began to look around the room and see my friends, many HIV positive, many a part of Upendo. I wondered if I could ever have a job in the US that could touch lives like mine does here. I wondered if I should leave them in a few months. I wondered if I would bother to mourn for their deaths when I live across an ocean. I wondered if they would ever really know how much I care about them. But at the same time I started to think about home. About my parents, family members, friends. For the first time I felt the ache of the pull between my two homes. And since that day, the feeling hasn’t really gone away. “Should I stay or should I go now….” Are no longer cute words to a song, it’s a truly pressing question in my heart.
November was also an incredibly busy month because I was preparing my village’s World AIDS Day celebration on December 1. I really wanted to chose a powerful theme for the event and after brainstorming with students, teachers, my counterpart and friends I got the idea from an unlikely place…my mom! J While talking on the phone with my parents my mom mentioned that since Tanzanian Independence Day was the week just after World AIDS Day maybe I could do something related to freedom. I decided on “Uhuru ni Uwezo” or “Freedom is Power.” I wanted to stress to my community—especially the young people that their personal freedom is powerful. They’re free to make healthy choices. They’re free to protect themselves. They’re free to test. They’re free to speak out. They’re free to know the truth. They’re free to live openly. They’re free to live with hope. They’re free to change the world. It turned out to be a pretty powerful theme….and it also was great for decorating purposes! Ha….guess I’ll always love a theme party.

I worked really hard to especially include my students in the event. I started by preparing a poster contest for the fifth and sixth grade students at the primary school. The idea of the poster contest was to get my life skills students thinking about World AIDS Day, but also to promote the event around the ward (Tanzania’s rough equivalent to a county). I bought flip chart paper and used the markers and pens that were provided by the members of St. Paul’s Lutheran Church for the kids to use. The teachers at the school were very cooperative and gave me plenty of time to prepare. First, we discussed the goals of World AIDS Day. We talked about how World AIDS Day is a day when people can learn more about HIV/AIDS and available resources in our community and villagers can have the opportunity to educate their neighbors, friends, and relatives. We talked about the need to reduce stigma. Finally we talked about the need to promote a higher sense of responsibility among the community as a whole to attack the problem of HIV/AIDS. While the students seemed to understand all the goals of World AIDS Day and the theme, they had a hard time understanding the concept of a poster contest. I’ll admit I was personally really frazzled and frustrated as I tried to explain the concept over and over again. No matter what I said or what examples I used, almost every child in the classroom would create an identical poster. My students are so used to copying EXACTLY what’s on the blackboard that an assignment that required visual creativity was incredibly difficult. At first I found myself criticizing the lack of creativity my students seemed to be displaying, but then I remembered that my students are amazingly creative writers and many have gifts in music that would be unfathomable in the US. The resources to support the visual arts, however, are not available or seen as a priority here. Eventually my students did get the idea and excelled at the project, which seems to be an illustration for how these kids will continue to overcome challenges in their lives. All in all, I was very pleased with my students. They did a great job making the posters and drawing a lot of attention to the event.

I also tried to create a special exercise for my secondary students. I decided that in lieu of a final exam I would give them something more practical. I created an HIV/AIDS Scavenger hunt. Again, this was a very new idea for my students. I asked them to find stores that sold condoms, get free condoms, visit local free clinics to test for HIV/AIDS, talk to church and government leaders about the HIV/AIDS crisis, talk to friends and family about their personal experiences with HIV and finally to give feedback on all the HIV/AIDS information they’d learned throughout the year. To be honest, the scavenger hunt was a near failure. Most students didn’t participate in the event and the few who did (less than 5%) did a very poor job. They fabricated answers and a few even downright lied (I’m tricky and gave all the places they were supposed to go special pens for the signature so I would know when they just were filling it in). I have come up a lot of answers to why this exercise was such a failure. 1) They’d never heard of a scavenger hunt before and the idea just didn’t make sense. 2) They were busy with finals and/or were already home after national exams. 3) They’re lazy. 4) The things I asked them to do were just too embarrassing. Excuse one and two are sort of understandable. Choice three just makes me down right mad. But it’s choice four that has me concerned. My students live in a community that is devastated by HIV/AIDS, but they can’t talk about it. My students know what condoms are and how to use them, but despite the fact that they can save their lives the stigma involved keeps them from obtaining them. My students can test for free at two places within walking distance, but again….I believe the stigma keeps them away. I remember when I first got here I asked if there was a lot of stigma around here. The resounding answer from everyone was, “No.” But I think they were only referring to one kind of stigma—the one directed at people living with HIV/AIDS. Sure, that’s still around, but my community generally accepts and treats people living with HIV/AIDS with respect. On the other hand though, there is great stigma related to positive health behaviors, such as using condoms or going to test. People see both of these gestures as admittance that a person has “bad behavior.” And no one (especially students) wants to risk that. Personally, some of the answers I received back to my life skills sessions were so incoherent I was afraid I had taught my students nothing. Although on the flipside there were also students who’s answers were so accurate and detailed I suspected they may have stolen my manual. Maybe that’s a good place for me to be in as an educator. The worst answers make me want to strive to do better and the best answers give me the confidence to know that I’m reaching some kids and maybe, possibly….actually making a difference in their lives.

After attending a community theater workshop in June, I was really excited to help my students prepare skits for World AIDS Day. The Fema Club from Bulongwa Secondary School prepared a play about the danger of alcohol use. Their drama showed that even well-educated, strong individuals can make poor and dangerous choices when under the influence of alcohol. Several of my life skills students from Mahulu Primary School also performed a play about the issue of fatakis. A fataki is a grown-up [man] who preys on young girls, usually students, for sexual companionship. This is a huge problem in Tanzania because these young girls often are living on the edge of poverty, so they enter into dangerous situations for basic needs and sometimes, even more upsetting, luxury items like shoes, clothes, phones, or money. The students performed a drama that empowered young girls to say no to easy money and also put responsibility into the hands of parents and community members to protect their children. The final play was performed by the women of the Miss Uhuru pageant (more on that to come). These women performed a skit that showed that educated and empowered women can and must make a stand to protect themselves against HIV/AIDS through abstinence, being faithful/testing, and/or using condoms. The skits were all really well-down, but not exactly in the “participatory” manner that we learned at the workshop. I hope that as I continue to work with my students they will be more prepared to use skits to start discussions that can cause real change in this community.

The Miss Uhuru pageant was an idea I got from a video I saw in college about Botswana’s Miss HIV Stigma Free Competition. This was a real beauty pageant in which all the contestants had to be HIV positive themselves or have a direct relative infected with the disease. I heard both criticism and praise about this event. Some people said the event was excellent. It showed that if you used ARVs you could live a positive and healthy life. It gave people courage to test and also helped reduce the stigma directed at PLWHAs. Others saw it as a bad thing. They said it glamorized HIV and made it into “no big deal.” They also feared that the lavish prizes given to the winners gave the message to people that if you need money or stuff—get AIDS. As I prepared this event, I tried to keep both sides of the coin in mind. I really believed that if I focused more on what the women SAID than on how they LOOKED it could be a really positive event. I can teach until I’m blue in the face, but these women who live the already difficult lives of women in a developing country gave first-hand accounts that not only encouraged people to test and live positively, but also to protect themselves and remain healthy. In my village I feel like the idea of HIV as no big deal, isn’t too much of a problem since people are sick and dying here daily, but I did have some serious concern about the idea of being rewarded for being HIV positive. This brings up a very difficult issue with my work. A lot of times I do provide “leg-up” type assistance for PLWHAs. Is this fair? Some of my villagers seem to think not, but I’ve seen the difficult lives these people lead. I’ve seen there children, and I have a hard to thinking that it isn’t crucial to sustaining families and in the long-term potentially the community at large. That being said, maybe the fancy gifts I gave to the participants weren’t necessary, but I felt like these women also deserved a reward for their bravery. No matter what anyone says, getting up and declaring your HIV status in front of 500 people isn’t easy. I have literally nothing but praise for the five women who were chosen for the competition and the 4 others who applied. All are amazing women who are caring well for themselves and their families. They spoke eloquently and with bravery. Not just to get a prize, but to be heard. Do fight AIDS. To help their communities, relatives, and friends. We only chose one Miss Uhuru, but they are all winners in my book. Pardon the colloquialism.

The afternoon hours on World AIDS Day were filled with soccer, free magazines and prizes, and testing! I got the help of PIUMA a local HIV/AIDS NGO and the local hospital in order to set up a testing booth in my village. In one afternoon 44 people got tested, many being referred to the hospital for treatment and PIUMA and Upendo for assistance. It has been difficult in the past few weeks talking to my friends and neighbors who tested positive on World AIDS Day. I am sad to hear that a friend is sick, but I’m encouraged that they tested and are now getting help. It was even more exciting to hear that some people who were afraid to test did so because they knew they had the support of Upendo group if they did test positive.

In the evening everyone headed to the neighboring church. The pastor and church elders agreed to help me prepare a candle light vigil. Parishioners came to remember those who lost their lives to HIV/AIDS, but also to pray for those who are infected and affected by HIV, including widows, orphans, PLWHAs, and their caretakers. It was a very emotional service, but it was incredibly powerful to hear the needs related to HIV/AIDS lifted up in prayer. It seems that since HIV has become such a huge part of life here, sometimes it’s taken for granted or ignored in a lot of ways. I really hope that by getting the church involved on World AIDS Day that they’ll continue to keep HIV/AIDS related issues in mind throughout the year.
Overall, I was really happy with the way World AIDS Day turned out. I was incredibly stressed out and sometimes not always kind, but despite myself, the event was really successful. My students learned a lot through attending but also by preparing and teaching themselves. My PLWHAs not only spoke well but proved to themselves what they’re capable of. The village and church leaderships learned what was possible when they worked together. And the HIV/AIDS organizations were brought together to really help the community.

That being said, after World AIDS Day was over, I was exhausted and went on vacation! I also used quite a bit of December relaxing and rejuvenating for the coming year! I enjoyed decorating my house with Bret and my neighbors as well as making a ridiculous amount of Christmas cookies! It was fun sharing my traditions with my friends here. In turn they took care of me on Christmas day. Christmas here isn’t a day filled with presents and Santa. Here we go to church in the morning to celebrate the real meaning of Christmas. Again this year I participated in the church Christmas play…this year as a wise man! After church Bret and I went around to our friends houses where we ate ridiculous amounts of food and danced to Tanzanian gospel music. I was so grateful for the love while away from friends and family. Bret and I tried to show our appreciation with words, but I think the gift bags filled with Christmas cookies did the trick a bit better!

The holidays did indeed give me a bit more time for “extracurriculars” while here. Bret, Marie and I made some pretty amazing food and treats! On Thanksgiving we made chicken, gravy, homemade stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, carrots, cobbler, and pie! It was quite a feast and it was topped off by a can of cranberry sauce I got in a care package (thanks mom and dad!). Bret and I made mouth-watering Christmas cookies over the charcoal stove: red and green Amish cookies, peanut butter jam print, chocolate fudge, no bakes, oatmeal butter squares, and toffee bars. Apart from special holiday foods, I also have recently made lasagna, mom’s mac and cheese, and corndogs!

I’ve had a bit more time for reading too since school let out. If you’re interested here are the books I’ve read:
· Magical Thinking by Augusten Burroughs
· A People’s History of the United States by Howard Zinn
· Objects in Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear by Katharine Weber
· The Nine by Jeffrey Toobin
· The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls
· Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder
· Cowboys Are My Weakness by Pam Houston
· Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone by J.K. Rowling
· Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling
· Wicked by Gregory Maguire
· Tuesdays With Morrie by Mitch Albom
· Pigs in Heaven by Barbara Kingsolver
· Green Hills of Africa by Ernest Hemmingway

That’s it for now. I don’t have too much else to say other than Happy New Year! Hope this finds you all happy and healthy! I don’t really have a New Year’s resolution other than to stop missing things from the US that can’t come in a care package….So here’s the list and I promise it’s the last time I mention them til I get home.
· Canned soup
· Dairy!
· Mom and grandma’s cooking
· Christmas shopping with dad
· Cereal
· The library
· The news (readily available)
· Prime-time tv dramas (I know…)
· My friends and family
· The freedom of having a car
· Seeing my brother’s latest hairdos
· Weddings

And no….I’m not ashamed that 1/3 of that list has to do with food. Hahaha….Happy New Year!

PS....I know I said I'd post pictures but the computer isn't exactly cooperating. I'll try and get on that ASAP!

A Chapter a Day?

Think this is going to be one of those blogs that needs to be divided into chapters…sorry everyone!

Chapter 1 Work:

Currently my PLWHAs group, Upendo, is doing really well. We have close to 30 members and we meet twice a month. The taarafa (kind like a county) Development Officer has been helping us preparing an official constitution as well as begin to prepare our credit group. Members have now almost all paid their “membership fee” as decided in the constitution (just less than $2) and most are putting 500 shillings (40 cents) monthly into our “bank” to use in our rotating credit scheme. We also have been lucky enough to receive contributions from some government leaders and from some short-term missionaries who came last month. Our “pot” is now over $200! The members can hardly wait to start getting loans, but I am insisting that we wait until everyone understands the process and the consequences of not paying back a loan on time.

This group also continues to care for a communal garden. We used the PC “permaculture” (short for permanent agriculture, which focuses on double digging, companion planting, and compost) technique which has gotten some positive and negative feedback. People are annoyed that I won’t use pesticides, which harm the good flora and fauna often along with the bad AND which deteriorate the soil. Although in some ways, I can now see why. Our beans were completely destroyed by bugs. L Some of our other seeds were from America and didn’t agree well with the very cold season we planted them in. Although, despite our difficulties. We had an amazing crop of spinach (which people have already begun to eat to improve their nutrition), our tomatoes (which are a bit expensive for the average Tanzanian to cook with on a regular basis) are progressing well, and our corn is higher than anyone else’s in the village! The garden does pose some problems of its own though. With such a big group it’s hard to keep track of who is doing their share of the work. I know some members are getting incredibly overworked while others get to reap the benefits. I know they are looking to me to step in, but other than a good talking to about teamwork….I’m trying to make sure they solve the problem together as a group.

While writing the group Constitution members agreed to support each other financially when one member has to go to the hospital. We also recently received the gift of a prayer shawl from the members of St. Paul’s Lutheran Church. The missionaries explained to the group treasurer that the shawl was made by an elderly member of the church and that while she made it she prayed for the recipient. After speaking with the group’s treasurer the missionaries also agreed to continue to pray and support the group even now after they’ve returned to Pennsylvania. I know the group appreciated the gifts (clothes, prayer shawl, money, and a water can), but I think the symbol of the shawl was almost more powerful for me. I know often as I work with PLWHAs I begin to feel anxiety for them, and the reminder that these strangers would intercede for them was such a huge comfort and blessing to me. It gave me a renewed hope I didn’t think I really noticed was missing.

I also wrote a grant for my group members to each start personally raising chickens so we are all eagerly awaiting the arrival of these funds so we can get going on building everyone’s coops, planning the training, and buying over a hundred chickens!

I continue to teach Life Skills in two secondary schools, but it is getting a bit harder. I am not a strict teacher like they are used to and my topic is not covered on national exams nor do I continue to hold the star-quality of the random mzungu who shows up to school. I am having to battle more and more with my students and constantly verbally demanding respect. While this struggle does occasionally make me just want to hide or find an excuse to stay home from school, I’m finding that their resistance is making me be honest and genuine with them in a way that wasn’t appropriate earlier. There are two more lessons revolving around HIV/AIDS before we move on to communication skills and I hope to finish these in November despite national exams and final prep (the school year ends here in December). Hopefully in the process I’ll be able to drive home my major points one more time. 1. You have the power to protect yourself from HIV. And you’re worth that effort. 2. HIV is not just a problem for those who are sick. We have a responsibility to help those who are infected and affected by HIV/AIDS live their lives to the fullest. 3. HIV/AIDS is a complicated issue and we have to be willing to take time to help neighbors, loved-ones, and family members make good choices. Sometimes I feel like I’m wasting my time teaching these young kids about HIV. The vast majority of them are healthy and strong and plan on staying that way, but the point I make is that HIV/AIDS education isn’t just for us. It’s about changing our society. It’s about showing us that we have the insight and power to make this world a better place. I hope that that message comes through as we pop condom balloons, debate, throwing popcorn seeds at each other, and play tug-o-war.

Teaching my primary school students life skills is a very different experience. The focus with them is very much on respecting oneself and others and taking basic precautions to keep safe. Through out the year we’ve covered the topics of: bullies, physical/mental disabilities, HIV/AIDS, and sexual abuse. We’re now starting the “Safety” chapter that talks about ways to protect oneself from accidents of various kinds and how to treat in the case accidents occur. I think it will be fun to put my First Aid classes to use with a very hands-on lesson! I am finally starting to know my kids names and their abilities as the year draws to an end. As of now, I don’t know if I will continue on with these students as the go to the sixth grade or if I will teach the in-coming 5th graders. We shall see!

I’m not sure if I’ve written on here yet about my bibi (grandma) group. A group of 7 elderly women caring for orphans approached me and informed me they would like to make a group. Currently we are attempting to officially start the group and make plans, but they have already begun a rotating credit group of their own!

And how could I forget? The choo building project continues to progress well. We are on an incredible time crunch due to the impending rainy season, but I have discovered if anyone can make the impossible possible…it’s Tanzanians. While the availability of a car to transport materials, the late arrival of grant money, and the fact that most villagers are now incredibly busy harvesting grain, we continue to progress well. I am faithful the kids will soon have a clean, safe place to go to the bathroom. To all of you who contributed I truly cannot thank you enough. I wish you could know the students that you are helping! I know that’s impossible, but I promise to do the next best thing and get some pictures of the students (and the progress) on here as soon as possible!

Finally, the icing on the cake work-wise are the preparations for World AIDS Day, December 1. We have a ton of activities planned and hopefully after World AIDS Day I’ll be able to give you a full run-down!

Chapter 2 When the Lights Go Out:

I once again have a list of books to share with you all. I know some people have mentioned wanting to “read books with me” so please feel free to pick a book from my list, read it, and send along your thoughts! It’ll be like cross-continental book club. The ones I’ve recently finished are:
The Importance of Being Ernest and Other Plays by Oscar Wilde
The Metamorphosis, the Penal Colony and Other Stories by Franz Kafka (that was for you, Dr. Mrs.)
Kanthapura by Raja Rao
The Princess Bride (not the original Morgenstern though, the abridged)
Summer Sisters by Judy Blume (yeah, I know…)
The Unlikely Disciple: A Sinner’s Semester at America’s Holiest University by Kevin Roose
The Ghost in Love by Jonathan Carrol
Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee by Dee Brown
The Soloist by Steve Lopez

It’s so funny how different your life is when you don’t have electricity. In a lot of ways, I really love it (granted, I cheat and use Bret’s to charge my phone, iPOD, speakers, and flashlight batteries…). The thing is, I can work work work until dark, but when the lights go out…I’m done for the day. I’m free to sit next to my neighbors fire and talk and eat ugali. I’m free to close my door and be alone. I’m free to cook. I’m free to read (by headlamp or candlelight). I’m free to think. I’m sure electricity is one of the inventions that has most effected the development of the western world, but a part of me loves that I don’t have access to it here. When the “productive hours of the day” are less, that leaves time for doing the things that make me me. I always have time to invest in people and in myself. Sure, it’s inconvenient and sometimes scary, but in the dark I can’t hide from myself. And I can’t run myself ragged. I have to be still, careful. Internal. I have time to read books that I’d never make time for in America. Books that teach me more about me. Books that teach me more about my shameful history. Books that confuse me and remind me that I’m no where close to have it all figured out. Books that remind me of friends. Books that remind me of issues that are far off. Books that make me appreciate the beauty of the human experience and relish my share in it. Maybe the problem isn’t just that the lights are out. Maybe it’s also that the noise is cut-off. The images cease. There’s no tv. There are no cars. I’m alone beneath the stars. It’s cold. I’m tired. If am physically and mentally exhausted…I sleep…and wake up refreshed in the morning. I don’t sit for hours in front of a tv or computer while my body pushes itself to the limit only to wake up tired again the next day. Does this mean I’ll turn my electricity off when I go home? Probably not. I love writing emails. I love watching the news and the occasional trashy tv show, but I think maybe this experience will help me find some sort of happy medium in the future. We’ll see…

Chapter 3 Knobby Fingers:

Well, anyone who knows me really well knows that I crack my fingers like crazy and I’m gonna have gnarly, disgusting fingers when I’m old. Unfortunately, recently I feel like I’m already there. The problem is this. My clothes washing form is a bit off. I never remember to use solely the palms of my hand, in particularly the fleshy part under my thumbs. This leads to me always getting small cuts on my hands on laundry day. For some reason these little tiny cuts always turn into big nasty knobs with ugly scabs that stick out and scratch whoever I touch. It’s not really that big of a deal. But that combined with the fact that laundry takes a shit-load of time, water, and energy makes me less and less into the whole laundry thing. Plus recently, Mama Diana, my neighbor, mom, and one of my best friends here, asked me why I don’t pay her to do my laundry.

So….that leads to the question: Why don’t I just pay someone to do my laundry? Paying someone to do my laundry each week would cost less than $7 a month and would save me probably 6 hours of work (excluding fetching water). This would put money into the hands of a Tanzanian who could really use it and wouldn’t really put a dent in my wallet at all. But I still say no. Why?

Well, initially I wasn’t sure how my “living allowance,” of about $200 per month, would provide. I wanted to live frugally and simply. I also made a commitment to myself to try and live as much like a Tanzanian as I can. To live without running water, electricity, appliances, etc. To make us equals in the toils and labors of life and hopefully through shared experience to catch a glimpse of their worldview. But is that why I continually refuse to pay someone to do my laundry? I don’t run out to the farm with my neighbors every chance I get (that shit is HARD work) and I don’t cut and carry firewood like they do and I use the internet and read books from an endless supply. So who am I really kidding? Why won’t I bend on this issue?

I have to admit that there’s another factor at play. One the Tanzanians will never understand….and that’s my ingrained views, fears, and experiences with race in the United States. Now, don’t get me wrong. Race is definitely an issue in Tanzania. White people “wazungu” have long been a presence here…for good and evil. We represent effortless money without strings. Aid. We’re the barers of religion and education. There is power involved. There’s unequality involved. But it’s not like at home. I am forever scarred by my country’s history of race relations. It took a long time before I didn’t wince when I was called mzungu. Because I didn’t want to be labeled by my color or appearance. I wanted to be a person. A dada (sister) or mwalimu (teacher). I didn’t want to be categorized by my color because since I was a small child I learned that’s an unpardonable sin.

“Thou shalt not be a racist,” is not a part of the Tanzanian Ten Commandments. There’s no history here of slave ships filled with human cargo chained under the hold dying of starvation, disease, and madness. There’s no history here of people being branded with the initial of the European country claiming them as a tradable good. There’s no history here of slaves slowly beat to death as an example to keep the negros in line. There’s no history here of ripping families apart for profit, pacifying with religion, or raping without repercussion. There were never race lynchings or burning crosses. There’s no history here of poll tax or the civil rights struggle. There aren’t ghettos here divided by race. There’s no statistics here drawing ties between poor education, STDs, crime, single-parenthood and race. People aren’t referred to by their race or ethnicity—the closest you may here is that someone is really black or white (which actually means light brown).

If I’m going to be honest with you and with myself, I have to admit that a part of me won’t let Mama Diana or anyone else touch my laundry because I can’t stand the picture in my head. I can’t stand handing someone a bag full of my dirty laundry in exchange for a fist-full of dirty money and a condescending “thank you”—especially if that someone is black. Am I being over-sensitive? Am I being a bit impractical? Probably the answer is yes to both.

So now the question is this…is our country being helped by this over-sensitive, impractical mindset? Is my hyper-sensitivity to race relations helpful to anyone? Am I promoting race reconciliation? Am I reducing stereotypes, producing understanding, or bridging the gap in any way? This might be a better blog if I knew the answer to that question.

I was recently talking to a friend about where I want to live when I grow up. Where I imagine the best environment to raise a child to be, etc. I mentioned that I don’t want to raise a child in a place that lacks diversity. I don’t want any child of mine to cry hysterically when they see a person of another race (yes, that happens to me on a regular basis). I don’t want any child of mine to form their thoughts on race solely on the stereotypes they see on tv or what they read in books. But then again, I love my home-town, despite it’s incredible lack of racial diversity. Why should I run-away from such a place simply because I don’t see enough colors when I stand in line at the grocery store. And is it fair to look at someone of another race as a statistic? Is it fair to want black people or Asian people or Hispanic people around so I can raise a child with an open heart? What if my child only walks away with a sense of the necessity of inter-race relations and not the beauty of relationship. And worse yet, what if my friends of another races feel like their only filling my diversity quota? When will it be that these intersections aren’t a part of my thought process? When will it be that I’ll be able to revel in my friends and loved ones because of the diversity of their thoughts, experiences, sense of humor, talents, and philosophies?

I don’t know when that day will arrive. I don’t think a day will come when it’ll be ok to forget the injustices of the past and present, but I hope that someday guilt and fear won’t guide my thoughts and actions. I hope that my children will observe in me a spirit that seeks justice and a love that is available to all. I hope that they’ll observe a person that treats everyone with respect regardless of all the categories and labels we create. I want my children to be free to love the homeless, the handicapped, the mentally ill, just as I want them to love people of other races. Maybe I won’t be able to completely lose the fear and the guilt, but maybe the place of these emotions in the culture and heart of my children will slightly be replaced. Maybe they’ll be the ones to change the world. Maybe it’ll be their kids…or their grandkids. I guess all I can hope is that at the end of the day my screwed up emotions, thoughts, and tendencies will guide me in the direction of love and someday those stimuli won’t be necessary for love to abound.

Chapter 4 Happy Birthday, Mr. President:

This morning I had the distinct honor of seeing Tanzania’s President in the flesh. Now that I’ve seen Kikwete in the flesh I’ve now seen 25% of Tanzania’s presidents since independence. Not bad since I haven’t seen one of our many American Presidents. He happened to be passing through our town on business and so he stopped to give a short speech to an anxious crowd of singing students, bishops, drivers, farmers, foreigners, and drunkards. He appeared in an impressive parade of cars—literally more than I see in any given day (perhaps month). He stood in his car with his body sticking out of his sunroof from the belly button up and spoke into a microphone with a spongy yellow cover. His hair had the strange sheen of black with a slight coating of dust from the roads and his tinted glasses created an even greater distance between us than that of the shifting crowd.

He congratulated the recently elected Village Chairman and asked him to give a brief account of the village’s leading issues at this moment in time. As a Peace Corps volunteer I am not allowed to give my opinion about Tanzanian leaders, but I will say it was a very interesting experience. I can’t imagine being “the man” responsible for the development of an entire nation. While cries for access to running water, electricity, and fertilizer may seem reasonable to me, I can’t imagine the volume of such cries when combined with every village in vast Tanzania. Kikwete’s job isn’t easy. I’m not sure I would want to be in his place.

And with that said…maybe a word on our President. Obama is constantly on my mind here in Tanzania. Not necessarily because I have any idea what he’s actually doing (because I don’t) but because Obama-mania is still in full-swing in Tanzania. There’s Obama flashlights, umbrellas, shirts, jean jackets, khangas, bags, posters, calendars, etc. etc. Many of which, I’ll admit, I own myself. I imagined that these items would be accepted at home as valuable keepsakes, but it seems like many of the Americans I talk to see them simply as over-priced garbage. Maybe being away from home is only allowing me to see a certain piece of the American people’s perception of Obama, but the piece I’m seeing is somehow hostile.

Ok…so maybe the reasons given for his reception of the Nobel Peace Prize are weak. Maybe universal health care won’t work. Maybe we’re still in a recession. But are any of these things his fault? With all the Obama-mania that swirled around the election, was the bar set too high? Is our rock star, racial hero, and rhetorical wizard really doing that bad of a job? My goodness….I’m sure everyone would agree that Kikwete has a hard job here facilitating development. Is anyone considering the difficulty of the task facing Obama? He’s supposed to restore our “good” reputation abroad, soothe the fears and the debts of the long-time economic elite, end bipartisanship, fulfill the dream of a non-racist America, and provide a leg-up to America’s often forgotten lower class—all of course while maintaining a perfect home life and preserving the stratification of our country that made it rich, prosperous and stable since 1776. The truth is, despite what I wrote in my President’s notebook with Mrs. Collins in eighth grade, the job of the President is incredibly difficult. They often make decisions to oppress people at home and abroad for the “greater good.” With all the problems in the American economy now, is that what America as a whole is asking for? Are we asking Obama to make the tough decisions that in the end will profit “us.” Is it possible to be a loving, virtuous person in the White House? And really….is that what America wants?

Listen, this is no plea for Obama (even though I have loved him ever since I wrote my senior thesis on the issue of race in his speeches) I’m just saying maybe normal citizens all over the world should stop blaming their hardships on current leaders (or those of recent history, cough Bush cough) and take a look at our messy histories and personal responsibility and see where we can go from here. Easy for me to say from here, I know…I live on less than $7 a day, but maybe my own words will snap me back to responsibility as I bitch about the lack of jobs, health insurance, taxes, etc in a few months.

Chapter 5 Water Water Everywhere?

Well, since we’re nearing the end of the dry season, I thought I’d write a quick reflection about the water situation here. I have a tap near-by my house, but there’s never water in it. When I want water I have to go down (a mountain!) to a nearby spring! It’s kinda a pain the butt. In the beginning of the dry season I made a habit of doing a bucket everyday. As I traveled and got lazy…I got out of the habit. These days if I’m hard pressed I’ll run down, but usually I just conserve until a group of students are sent from the school to fetch me water. Thank Jesus.

So….this whole process has me thinking about conservation. Anyone remember when Kim and Reggie Harris used to come and sing to us at Radez Elementary School? I’m pretty sure they even visited our class since they were friends with Mrs. Petersen! Anyway, I remember these individuals, not just for the color of their skin, their extraordinary dress, and exuberant personality, but for the words they sang. My favorite song (complete with motions) went something like this, “Shut off the water, don’t let it run…leave a little water for everyone. Shut off the water when you are done. Shut off the water.”

Sometimes I catch myself humming this diddy as I’m at Bret’s house (he has running water) washing my hands or brushing my teeth. I even sing it (bitterly) to myself as I watch Tanzanians pour out the bottom of their drinking cup after getting enough to drink (they drink the entire cup at once and dump out the rest). I mean….REALLY! Don’t they remember how much work it was to get down to the spring for that water? But then again…they’re used to the process. Just like when I go to Dar and there’s an unlimited water supply I take a 20 minute shower. When I’m used to the process I use without thinking. Just like I did at home. Just like I do here.

I’m going to be honest with you here. I don’t think my water consumption will change when I get home. I love taking long, scalding hot showers. And when I can do that effortlessly, I’m pretty sure I will. Daily. So what have I learned here? Hard work sucks? I’m spoiled and ok with it? I don’t know. Maybe I won’t be able to give up my exorbitant water consumption, but maybe it’ll be a reminder as I consume other things. Maybe I didn’t have to work hard for my gas or clothes. But SOMEONE did.

Chapter 6 I am Woman, Hear Me Roar?

The word feminism in America is very often a devil term of sorts. We often think of feminist as militant, impractical, cold. While I’m so far away from home now, I think more than ever I’m aware of this stereotype in myself. Tanzania in general has a more “traditional” view of gender. There is an incredible split in the division of labor and people’s distinctions between women’s sexual, spiritual, and social needs and responsibilities are very definite. I often find that these conceptions are frankly, infuriating. While complaining to Bret recently he asked me, “So…why do you strive so hard to fit into the norm here.” He was referring to my outward appearances and gestures. And he’s right…in many ways, I strive to be the ideal Tanzanian woman.

I bend my knee when I greet anyone (man or woman)—men don’t do this. I wear a dress or skirt everyday. I try and prepare food for guests and fuss about the manner in which it’s presented. I sit on the women’s side at church. I eat after the men. I participate in “women’s work” and avoid hang-out areas for men. Why?

Well, first of all, because I’m a guest. I didn’t come to Tanzania just to teach about my culture and history. I came to learn about and appreciate Tanzanian culture. Yes, I piga magota when I greet, but the degree varies on age more than gender (I get right down on the floor for old ladies!) because I deeply respect the reverence Tanzanians have for the elderly. I wear dresses, even though I doubt anyone would mind in the least if I put on a pair of jeans or dress pants. Most of the wazungu here do! But if I dressed like a mzungu maybe I wouldn’t be able to garner mutual respect from the elders here. I wouldn’t be able to get clothes made like the women here. I wouldn’t be able to show them that I think they’re beautiful and stylish too. I strive to be a good hostess not just because it’s what’s expected of me as a woman, but because I want to return the hospitality that has been shown to me on countless occasions in my 17 months here in Tanzania. I sit with the women at church so I can worship without distraction and without being a distraction to others. I try and wait to eat…because, well, “the last shall be first,” right? I participate in “women’s work” to spend time with my friends and learn about their lives and I avoid hang-out areas for men, so I can keep the respect of the community at large. What would you think of the white girl from outta town that gets drunk with your husband?

So that bears the question? What am I doing to help women here? And really, do they need my help? The feminist revolution in the United States took place over an extended period of time and was led by American women. Prophets in their own land. That’s likely what will create change here in Tanzania too. In the meantime, I’m trying to do my part. I show indignation when the female teachers (who are equally educated and equally busy at school) are expected to serve chai. I get angry when men don’t take responsibility for the well-being of their families or speak condescendingly toward their wives. And furious when they are violent or abusive towards their wives or children. But my approach is to talk. To discuss. If men through Bible verses at me about wives submitting to their husbands I ask them in they love their wives like Christ loves the church (he died for it!!! He didn’t beat it). If a friend speaks down to his wife or tells her what to do, I call him on it. Not militantly, but not completely in jest. And I often try to make the female teachers wait with me until a male teacher serves us. I show my students that girls can play soccer. I let Bret show our neighbors that boys can cook and clean. Some of these strategies are direct, some are indirect. My hope is that by being an accepted part of this village (partly by fitting well into my gender roll) I’ll be able to gain a voice about this topic, and maybe inspire the Susan B. Anthony, Sojourner Truth, or the author of the African Feminine Mystic.

That all being said, I don’t completely hate the Tanzanian view of women. They treasure women as wives and mothers. Two things I hope to achieve and excel at some day. I also don’t completely praise the American definitions of gender, nor do I think we have at “gender equality.” Maybe my time here has made me more sensitive to society’s ability to define rolls. And maybe this sense will enable me to be the Sojourner Truth of my generation when I get home.

This is President Kikwete in my village!

This is how my neighbors cook. Fire wood on three stones. The pot is made out of white clay which turns black from the fire.

My village is beautiful this time of year. The grain is ready to harvest and it covers the gorgeous slopping hills with gold. The walk to work is great!


Dar es Salaam is pretty too...

This is how to finish bricks. Those fires burnt all night....I went home at like 1 a.m.

Bret and I...yeah, I'm short.

Some of the ladies in my PLWHAs group splitting up the vegetables from our garden.

My kids dancing in my living room. There's no better way to cheer up after a hard day at the office. :-)

This is the foundation of the choos. The walls are almost done now! They're about up to my chest! Maybe we will get at least the kids choos done before the rain...

The fundi hard at work.

Choos!!!

Hi everyone! Not much time to write today, but I wanted to pass on the great news that after slightly adjusting the budget with my villagers, we have reached our goal. We began buying supplies today! I'll keep you all posted. Thank you so much for your support!

Finally!

Top: Celebrating Philip "The German"'s departure by dancing to "Dar Mpaka Moro"

Next: Some of my 5th graders

Left: Bret (right) helps prepare the goat for our 4th of July feast

Below: My living room

Left: My counterpart after the community theater workshop

Next: My bedroom

Bottom: Part of the Obama shrine in my office

Tooooo Long, Again. :-)

Well, I'm hoping to get some pictures up on here, but they seem to be taking FOR-EV-ER....so I'm not sure if that will happen. Oh well, I'll give it a few more minutes than I'm gonna quit for today. I still have two meetings before I teach at the primary school at 2:40 (and it's 12:30!) Yikes....

I'm already quite busy after just getting back from a bit of a trip. I went to Morogoro for a Community Theater Workshop. It was awesome! We learned to combine drama and BCC (Behavior Change Communication) to teach people about difficult topics. I loved the way we had to break down the problem (it's causes, side effects, etc) and I especially loved getting my acting shoes back on. I got to play a bit of a harlot in our group's play. HAHA...it was fun. I'm a bit worried my counterpart thinks I was type-casted though. The whole thing is recorded, but with the way downloading seems to be happening, I'm not sure it'll be online anytime soon. Can't wait to start a drama group here in village though. Should be lots of fun!

After Moro I went up to Tanga to be a "PCV of the Week." No, it's not a cool award or anything....sorry to disappoint you. I just got to go meet the newbies that arrived in June and help with their training a bit. It was really fun. They're a great group and are gonna do good work here! I had fun answering their questions and it was crazy to see what a difference a year makes!

Now after two weeks plus a little I'm back to work. I'm having a great time teaching again. I love teaching life skills. The last lesson i taught was about the relationship between STDs and HIV/AIDS. Did you know that in Africa you're 350% more likely to contract HIV if you have an STD? The lesson was quite serious, but we had a lot of fun with it. Who knew a basketball hoop and a washbasin could be sample vaginas? Ha....

My PLWHAs group is doing well too. The garden survived the cold and things are starting to come up! It's so exciting! Hopefully this month we'll have a guest speaker come and help us set up our rotating credit group and I am starting to write a grant to get them all started in chicken farming!

There are some other new developments too. We haven't started building the choos because we're waiting on money, but I have just been approached by some elderly women who care for OVCs (Orphans and Vulnerable Children) and we're going to start a group for them! I'm really excited.

I don't have much time but just thought I'd write a few quick notes of things that have made me happy recently (in no particular order):
*The death of Michael Jackson....well, not that he died. Just the amount of sympathy I got from my neighbors. I haven't heard about any news since Obama won the presidency, but Jackson was all over the radio. Don't think I've heard "Thriller" so much in my life! :-)
*Fourth of July....no fireworks or parades....but we did kill 2 goats and 2 chickens and had a big old party!
*Calzones. Homemade. Enough said.
*The US's showing in the Confederation Cup. It was a rough final, but I was still proud and rocking it out in my Obama khanga and American flag headwrap. My host father called me to apologize after the game.
*Emails from home
*Tons of support for the choo grant....Thank you!
*Ice cream cones (I love the city....)
*The cards and pictures that are decorating my living room
*Giving myself a french manicure (and then promptly rubbing it all off doing laundry...oops)
*Running away from Bulongwa during the coldest season
*Reading lots of good books (A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemmingway, Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, The Golden Compass by Philip Pullman, The Bean Trees by Barbara Kingsolver, Love Walked In by Marisa De Los Santos, The Shack by William Paul Young, The Chronicles of Narnia by CS Lewis, The Long Lonliness by Dorothy Day, Blood Memory by Greg Isles, Happy Birthday Wanda June by Kurt Vonnegut, and The Importance of Being Ernest and other plays by Oscar Wilde)
*Mastering the art of carrying water on my head. :-)

Well, I'm giving up on the pictures for today...sorry. Hope this update finds you all well!

Help...

I stand in front of a class of 49. My students sit in pew-like benches with long, skinny desks. Five, maybe six are crammed on a bench that can comfortably hold three. Two others are crowded over their shoulders trying to catch a glimpse at one of the few life skills books possessed by Mahulu Primary School. The pictures are bright and the sections colored and adorned with clipart and Wordart. As one student finishes reading a section, 15 others already have their hands waving violently in the air trying to catch my attention. They want to read next. My heart breaks and I decide we should read together for a time.

As the class trudges on reading about equal rights for the handicapped a little girl slips out of her seat and walks silently in her used sneakers up to the front. Her uniform is very worn. The red sweater is unraveling and her blue skirt has burn holes, probably from tending the fire, cooking, and cleaning at home. The collar of her white shirt is clean, but frayed from washing. Yatima or “orphan,” I think to myself. I don’t know her name. My students quickly lost the name tags I had them make for their desks (and remake, a number of times) when I first started teaching them. I make-do and try to learn a few names a week, but it’s an uphill battle. The names are often unfamiliar and those that look familiar I pronounce incorrectly.

She lowers her eyes to the ground and asks to use the bathroom. I nod my head to the door and excuse her without drawing attention. As my students near the end of a section, I barely have time to think about what I wanted to ask them about to gauge their comprehension of the passage. I try and catch up at the end of their swift Swahili, but it’s too late. I was lost in thought and now, I’m caught. I choose another student to continue reading and go on thinking about the girl who headed to the bathroom. I’m angry at myself for not knowing her name. Or where she lives. Or who her guardian is. I’m wondering what happened to her skirt and if a strict teacher may beat her for her offense. I’m wondering if she’s learning anything from my time in her classroom. But most of all, I’m thinking about where she’s headed.

The latrines initially built when this school was constructed years ago are full. Now students and teachers go out to a shallow hole surrounded by a small cubicle made of sticks and the remnants of logs that remained after some lumber was cut in a nearby wood. These latrines are hard to keep clean and contaminate the ground water that reaches the drinking cups of all my villagers young and old, healthy and strong and those with damaged immune systems. The waste spreads from the school, which is at the top of a hill and reaches the crops of countless villagers. It carries dangerous fecal-oral diseases, such as diarrhea, dysentery, intestinal worms, hepatitis, typhoid, and cholera.

The school choos (latrines) have constantly been on my mind since March when I agreed to write a Peace Corps Partnership Grant to raise the money to help the community build new choos for the school. I remember sitting in Mama Elia’s living room discussing project ideas the day we discovered the school’s choo problem. Her wooden couch has brightly covered cushions, but they’re covered with lace and embroidered doilies. Every time I sit on them I pull off her careful decorations as I fidget over conflicting ideas and strategies. I was distractedly explaining the types of Peace Corps grants to Mama Elia (my counterpart, comrade, advisor, and dear friend) as I attempted to fix the lace on her couch. As I rattled off some examples of grants I knew other Peace Corps volunteers had done her face suddenly set and I realized she had an idea. I had mentioned a friend building choos and Mama Elia quickly began to explain how badly the primary school is currently in need of proper toilet facilities. To be honest, I cringed at the idea. Building projects are hard, expensive, and require the use of a type of grant that relies on the direct contributions of the volunteer’s friends and family. I tried to continue on with our discussion, but it was too late. The idea was already set in her head.

Later that week Mama Elia arrived at my house with the village’s Mwenyekiti or chairperson. She had sold him on the school choo idea and he had already talked to people at the school and numerous parents. I agreed to write the grant and got on the ball. The next grant deadline was less than a week away. I’ll spare you the details of the entire grant-writing process. It was a great learning experience and I now have a completed and approved grant online and awaiting support from, “Wamarekani wa kawaidi, kama familia yangu na rafiki zangu,” normal Americans, my family and friends (as I explain to my villagers).

A part of me cringes as I write this blog, I’ll be honest. I had hoped my days of support letters and asking for money were over. But their came a point one day where I realized I could serve my villagers, their pressing needs and desires, or be a servant to my pride. I chose the former. I know that I made the right decision, and I hope and pray you agree. I wish I could simply write a grant to ask for this money from a corporation or even our government, but PC doesn’t have the budget to complete building projects and PEPFAR (President Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief) funds are only related to activities that are directly HIV/AIDS related. This is the only avenue I have available. I know these people. I know their work, their homes, (some of their names J), their ailments, their heartbreaking histories, their jokes. I know this grant is important. In a way, I wish I could just make it happen on my own. But in some ways that is selfish and it steals an opportunity for us to do work here—together—in Tanzania. I feel some guilt in asking you to do this, but in another part of me I rejoice that my friends and family across the miles can be a part of my work here. I know some of you wish you could come and help too…maybe this is the next best thing. Thank you for helping me as I struggle to help my villagers support themselves. They’re spread thin between government development initiatives and struggling to better than own families. In a way this is my feeble attempt at saying, “I see you. I see your struggle. I want to help.”

I can’t wave a magic wand and skip over the many painful steps necessary in the development process. I can’t provide running water for everyone in the village. Or improve the roads which are nearly impassable during certain parts of the year. I can’t even provide “adequate” toilet facilities as they would be defined in the US, because the necessary infrastructure is simply not there. What I CAN do, is provide them with a few simple things. Latrines (with a septic tank away from the facilities to reduce the fumes inhaled by the students). And beyond that—education. I can teach them why of all the projects I had hoped to do, the first I chose was to build choos. I can teach them about the importance of sanitation. The role of a proper latrine. The diseases that will be prevented. And most importantly, I will give them a model to take home. A goal.

Currently, there are homes in my village without any bathroom facilities at all. The government tries to encourage their construction and use through campaigns and fines, but the poorest of the poor simply lose any savings they have to pay the fines. They never have the money to actually build the facilities. It’s a vicious cycle. This may seem like an expensive teaching tool, but what better place for it to be located than at a school. Who better to teach that progress is attainable than the youth?

If this is a project you’d like to support please see https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=621-205 and donate as soon as possible. It’s really important that construction is finished before the rainy season commences again.
I’m sorry to be asking you for money, that probably wasn’t your expectation when you started reading my blog. I’m sorry and yet I still have faith. I know the hearts of my family and friends. I know the beauty in being surprised by the generosity of a stranger. I believe this will happen. And I believe you will help. For that…I’m thankful. Mama Elia thanks you. My students thank you. My village thanks you.

How To Say Goodbye

Don’t be fooled by the title. I’m in no means ready to say goodbye to Tanzania. I’m actually doing quite well (despite challenges and freeeeeeezing cold weather), but I wanted to talk about a a loved one is no easy task regardless of your longitude and latitude, but it’s in the context of difference between the customs of Tanzanian culture and American culture. Saying goodbye to such a profound and grievous moment that I am overwhelmed both by the connections between people and the walls and ditches between us developed by our cultures.

During training my LCF (Language and Cross-Cultural Facilitator) encouraged us to experience as many “cultural events” as possible. While in our classroom one day, we learned from our neighbor, a leader in the near-by mosque, that there was to be a funeral. We received some quick instructions from our teacher and headed next door to “learn.” I’m a full believer in the open-air classroom, but I was a bit hesitant to enter the house that day. I was wearing my school clothes—nothing special. I didn’t know much language and I didn’t know a soul in the room. I felt like I was using the people who were mourning a loved one. It’s one thing to ask questions in a informal setting—in the market, on the street, by the cooking fire, or while doing chores, but it seemed a bit much to intrude on someone in the moment of their greatest grief to “learn.” Anyway, I tentatively entered the home, said “Pole” (not pole like in English, it rhymes with Ole! like in salsa commercials) and contributed 500 shillings (less than 50 cents). After that we had a lesson about the burial customs of Islamic Tanzanians. It was a good learning experience, I suppose. I learned about making contributions and some of the details, but now…as a villager. I’m beginning to learn how Tanzanians really say goodbye.

Death is a fact of life in all parts of the world, but I feel its looming presence here more than I ever did in the US. Maybe that’s because in the US only violent deaths or the deaths of celebrities made headline news. The rest were hidden in obituaries in the middle of the newspaper or maybe solemnly, swiftly shared among friends. In Tanzania deaths are announced. Formally (with church bells and cries) and informally, as neighbors greet each other on the street. But if there’s one thing death and grief is not in Tanzania, it’s private. Maybe the reason I feel bombarded by death is here is because I do not just mourn the death of my loved ones or even arrive to support a close friend in their moment of grief. As a villager, I am expected to grieve with everyone who is grieving.

There isn’t exactly an exact procedure in Tanzania. It’s not like family can fly home the day they receive news and plan the wake, funeral, and burial (if plans haven’t already been made) quickly. As news reaches family members they flock from their nearby homes or begin the long journey from major cities scattered through the country. Some arrive immediately and begin mourning while others may take days traversing the poor roads that reflect Tanzania’s infrastructure development. Once all the family arrives the official burial takes place. When I catch word of a funeral my first response is, “Tutamzika lini?” Or when will we burry him (or her)? I ask this for my planning pleasure (yes, I still attempt to plan and I carry around a little calendar when I’m working). But this doesn’t mean that the only day I can arrive to pay my respects is the day of the actual funeral. My next question is usually, “Utaenda msibani lini?” Or…when will you go to the funeral. The word msiba can not be directly translation to a funeral as we think of it in America. A funeral here is more an extended period of mourning at the home of the deceased. I like to go with a neighbor 1) to learn where the deceased lived and 2) so I have someone to model through the process as I’m still learning.

For at least a week after someone dies in my village mourning occurs at their home. Mats of straw are put on the floor of the jiko (kitchen) or sebule (living room), depending on whichever is bigger. Mats are borrowed from friends and neighbors and are hodgepodgedly combined to make a patchwork covering on the dung/mud floor. Sometimes they have holes. Sometimes they are brightly covered. If not enough mats can be found cement or flour sacks can be cut and unfolded. The mats provide a clean place for guests to sit on the floor. All furniture is removed from the room so the max amount of people can come in to grieve together.

When you arrive at the funeral you will step over a sea of women (only women—the men are sitting outside. I can’t tell you much about what they do, other than that upon first arrival they may come in and sit by the door to greet or perhaps pray with the women before retreating back outside) and try and find a blank patch of mat to sit in. If there is room you will sit with your legs stretched out in front of you and crossed at the ankles. No one is wearing black and high heels. Everyone is wearing a matching khanga or kitenge and their shoes are in a pile at the door. One piece of bright cloth is wrapped around the waste and the other wrapped around their shoulders like a shawl. The sea of colors and patterns is mesmerizing and the thick, dusty feet of a grandmother who has farmed her whole life demand respect. When you arrive you will be greeted by a few claps and then the singing of hymns will begin. You may understand the words and try to sing along in a soft harmony, but likely they will be using the tribal language so you will just watch and listen. Family members may be crying, but their tears are covered by the music and their stressed bodies warmed by the suffocating presence of their neighbors and a smoldering fire.

Once the singing has momentarily ceased you crawl about on your knees and greet everyone. Depending on their emotional state and age I try and grasp for a single word that seems most appropriate, most bonding. To my neighbor, konyivovu. The tribal greeting. To the daughter of the deceased (ba or ma rehema the father or mother of peace), pole. Sorry, in Kiswahili. To the mother of the deceased, sita. Sorry in the tribal language. To a teenage friend in the corner, I whisper vipi dada? What’s up, sister? I make my way about the room, careful not to forget anyone and careful not to greet anyone twice. If I have to quickly run I may put some shillings in the hand of the closest relative to the deceased and sneak out. If I have time, I stay.

At times I’ve stayed all day. The days are long and my legs and bottom ache, but the there is much to see, hear, and taste. Food is brought in on trays by friends who are caring for their friends as they mourn. Chai, ugali, greens, rice, roasted corn, potatoes, and sometimes soda are served. Friends who come to grieve don’t come empty handed. They carry firewood (kuni), ugali flour, greens, or maybe some sugar or salt. The atmosphere in the room changes throughout the day. As new people arrive the grieving is strong and the singing voices loud. Songs are highly religious, but not cliques. They express anger at God “Umeharibika mpango wetu” (you have ruined our plan) or ask for peace. As emotions and energy run dry the mood lightens. Women lounge and nap. Some talk and joke. The music changes from slow and despairing to fast and almost lively. Sometimes women and children (and a crazy mzungu) will dance around the fire as people sing and beat buckets like drums. I think the variety in emotions rocked and shocked me more than anything. Mourning is not choked or private here. Women sob, beat the ground, scream, cry, wail, even yell at God one minute and sip chai and talk about their children the next. Some people (even Tanzanians) joke about this practice. They seem to scoff at the lack of dignity in their quite noisy mourning. But I’m starting to believe that the genuine expression of emotion is the most dignified way to deal with such loss. Plus the presence of community allows you to always have someone to cry with as well as someone to relax, recover, and reenter regular life with. One thing I was moved by was that the entire grieving process was not hid from children. One of the funerals I spent the most time at was that of my counterpart’s mother-in-law. I ached for her as she grieved, but I could not contain my emotion as I watched her youngest son (a fifth grader, whom I teach life skills to) sob as his aunt arrived at the funeral from Dar wailing and calling for her mother to come back. He didn’t hide. Nor did she. She taught him (as did everyone else) that it was ok to be sad. Ok to say goodbye. And ok to move on. That night his singing and dancing was so lively and beautiful that to this day I ask him to sing for me every time I go to his house.

Once the immediate family members arrive the actual burial takes place. The pastor and the wazee wa kanisa (church elders) preside over the ceremony. The body is preserved with lime by family members of the same sex and community members work together to build a casket. Before the funeral the vijana (young people, usually men) dig the hole for the body. Everyone comes for the burial who can. They file through (women then men) and look at the body in the casket. Then the entire procession goes to church for a service (if there is time and the family so choses) or goes immediately to the cemetery behind the church. Men and women stand on opposite sides of the body but spread out over the entire field. The pastor says a few words and someone reads a brief summary about the person’s life, usually impersonal details about education and a brief mention of his/her family. If there are any government or church officials present they will speak. There are not personal accounts. Very little singing. When that is finished the vijana rush to work and take turns frantically covering the body with the removed earth. Their energy is almost disturbing or disrespectful, but customary. Once the body is covered family members are called up by category to place branches or flowers on the soft earth. Finally all the women go up and fill in the bare patches with flowers.

When the burial is over everyone files away. They may give their condolences to family members who are sitting in a line. Then everyone washes their hands with warm water and makes their way back to the house where a great feast is being served. If you are able it’s customary to make a donation to help alleviate the cost of this food. You won’t feel cheated for doing so, your stomach will be full of delicious rice, greens, cabbage, beans, and even meat. Children will crowd around a bowl and share their portion. Everyone else will try and find a dry spot of ground to eat.

As the food quickly disappears friends dart through the crowd collecting plates and washing hands (eating rice with your hands can be a messy venture) and bringing them to be quickly washed and put back into circulation. As the sun goes down some people will head back to their homes to prepare dinner for the small children, but others will find their way back to the kitchen to lounge on the mats. They will even sleep here at the funeral. Their love and support doesn’t end after the burial or even after dark. I will never forget the time I slept at a funeral. I was amazed by the number of women sleeping on the floor of the kitchen. There were two long lines of women wrapped in their shawls spooning. I stubbornly insisted on staying in the kitchen (despite a nasty runny nose), but after hours of talking I was shooed away to my counterpart’s daughter’s room where there was a bit more space and warm blankets. But before I went to bed I managed to talk with my friend and her relatives (including her husband’s second wife, and two other mothers of his children) about funeral customs in the US and eventually about health related topics and gender equality. They were very interested to learn about the idea of wills and planning for one’s death and I dispelled the popular misconception that all Americans are cremated (as well as giving some reasons for why this is practiced and how it is carried out. Although they still think the idea of keeping someone’s ashes in your house is weird).

After about a week the funeral seems to die out. Relatives from out of town return home and everyone else returns to the farm. Children go back to school. Lives continue. I have to admit that it is here where my reflections start to get muddled. I’m learning the norms of the process. I know how to dress, greet, consol. I grieve and mourn and sing. And while I am overwhelmed by the oneness of the people here (including myself) I realize that I continue to think of home and those I love. And sometimes I get angry that no matter how well I know the customs, I will never belong. As well as I can function in this highly sensitive context, as well as I can blend in, lend a hand, make a donation. I will always be an outsider. I will always thrill the bibis (grandmothers) when I say sita. I will always be confused by the little nuances. I will always attract the eye of those from outside the village. It’s hard to see how quickly I can begin to be a part of the community and yet I am still me under the surface. Still a part of my own culture. Still a part of my own community. Still longing for that context…despite the immense love and passion I have for people and my work here.