Time in America
I guess I didn’t talk much about my time in America and the trip over, so I’ll make a few brief comments. I can’t explain, but right away when I got onto the dinky airplane heading to Omaha, NE, I felt like I was already home. I could just tell a big difference in the people, I was with Nebraska folk. People were friendly and had a good sense of humor. Meeting my family at the airport was exciting and unbelievable that I was finally home, after one year. A bit creepy hugging Joel and seeing that his head hit above my shoulder. Mom was all worried I’d experience culture shock with adjusting back to the US during my short stay, but it really wasn’t all that bad. I did forget about a few nice luxuries though, such as a hot shower whenever I needed one…not only did unlimited water come out from the shower head, but the water was warm without me having to start a fire and heat it up. Fixing my hair was also something I forgot about…hair dryer and hair straightener! I didn’t even think about how weird it’d be to use these appliances after one year without. Opening up cupboards to see the endless choices of processed American foods was a thrill. The bed I slept on was possibly the most comfortable thing ever…it wasn’t foam like the one I have here in TZ….now I know I’m adjusted back to TZ b/c I now believe my foam bed is wonderful, at least compared to a rope bed or stuffed gunny sack. It was good to be with Dad and to see all extended family who came to visit him in the burn unit in Lincoln. Even in dad’s condition, he still was looking out for me…he tried, unsuccessfully, to hook me up with one of the burn techs who was taking care of him. I finally got to meet Cory’s girlfriend, Jess. I was relieved that she was as cool as the rest of the family described her. Kinda ridiculous, but I was super excited to see Teddy (dog) and the cats. Meeting with college friends and going to Abby’s wedding was all a lot of fun. It’s crazy how all my girl cousins are married now and one just had a new baby. Probably one of the more difficult adjustments is to realize that time didn’t stop and people didn’t stay the same as when I left America. As dumb as it sounds, it’s kinda hard to see that life can go on without you. Time went so fast in America, which I knew it would. However, leaving wasn’t as difficult as I worried it might have been. I remember Cory jokingly saying “Go back where you came from” and that’s exactly how I felt, going back to my other home across the world. Just one more year and I’ll be back in the USA for good.
July 14, 2010
During my mid-service conference, it seemed to me that we (pcvs) have all gained a more realistic view of our role in Peace Corps…which I’m still a bit unsure yet what I can do to best help my village. I know Peace Corps programs each differ with the different countries it serves in. However, I feel like goal number one (teach skills to young men and women so that they have the tools to help develop and stabilize their country) is not as effective as what pcvs come in thinking it will be, or at least in my case I don't believe I’ve met goal 1. I just don’t feel confident teaching farmers who have been working with the land longer than I’ve been alive, and telling them what to do…and I have no experience to back up what I teach. The majority of PCVs are recent college graduates, so there’s not a whole lot of experience or expertise to be shared. The other 2 goals are about sharing America’s culture with the other country and sharing the other country’s culture with Americans. These last two goals are actually why I wanted to join PC, to be able to learn about and experience another culture. I’ve found that following these two goals has led to an enjoyable and effective first year of service. However, Peace Corps knows it needs a better reason than just making friends in another country in order to get tax payers’ dollars. It definitely is important to keep peace and harmony between the US and other countries. These good relations also open up other countries’ trade and resources. There are probably more selfish reasons why America so strongly supports service outside of the US. America seems to benefit the most from sending out volunteers; more than the countries we’re working in. The same goes for PC volunteers; we seem to gain the most from our service compared to the villagers we work with. We learn so much about ourselves, hardships, and we experience life in another country. Another volunteer in my group made a comment about the effectiveness of PC and what keeps volunteers happy…and sane. The most satisfied volunteers are those that really integrate into their village and focus on goals 2 and 3. We’re all about change for the better. However, so many of us do not realize what changes TZ needs until much later on in service, if even then. Maybe Leonardo De Caprio was right in Blood Diamond, that Peace Corps volunteers just stay long enough to realize they can’t do anything to fix the problem. I’m not saying Peace Corps is pointless, but I’ve just come to look at Peace Corps’ purpose a little differently. And maybe TZ doesn’t need to change and develop as much as we think it should. We as a developed nation have a thing or two to learn from 3rd world countries such as TZ. I thought this was interesting; I came across this in my daily inspirational reading.
“Contrary to popular belief, material riches do not guarantee happiness. Beaming smiles often radiate from faces in third-world countries while depression soars in the lands of plenty. Many times prosperity breeds discontentment and dissatisfaction. Greed is an insatiable appetite that destroys lives. Earthly possessions leave us empty because our hearts are fickle. Once we gain possession of one thing our hearts yearn for something else.” Whispers of Wisdom for Young Women (2008)
Yes poverty is definitely a problem, and a lot of bad things stem from it: poor education systems, silence on women’s rights, young girls’ pregnancies, rape, prostitution, unsanitary conditions, health care inadequacy, day to day survival, food and water insecurity, etc.
However, America also has its own set of issues: school shootings, eating disorders, obesity, workaholics, disconnection from older generation, lack of time spent with family, obsession with appearances and staying young, materialism and the amount of waste many of our unnecessary products create, lack of appreciation or knowledge of where our things come from and how they are made. These are just a few problems that Tanzania does not have…yet.
The first year I was always so concerned about fitting in and being liked. It was hard for me to be what TZs liked to see in a volunteer because I didn’t feel comfortable showing characteristics such as being an overly confident and outspoken individual. Overall, most Tanzanians notice a person for how much Swahili they can communicate, and they are entertained with the more sassy and outgoing volunteers. I kind of feel like a plain Jane sometimes compared to my peers. Another comment a PCV in my group told me was that no matter what, she would never be as happy or content with her work in Tanzania compared to her work in America. And she had come to terms with this, that she’ll never be as happy in TZ or fit in like she did in the states and that was okay. Peace Corps is meant to be challenging; that’s part of what the whole experience is about.
My last comment about the different conversations I had with other PCVs: During Morogoro training I realized how discontent and unhappy some volunteers were with their sites. I guess I shouldn’t take it for granted that I actually like my village and I enjoy being with my villagers learning something new each day.
July 15, 2010
POLE KWA SAFARI (Apologies for travel)
There’s a reason why Tanzanians apologize whenever one goes on a journey. Traveling in TZ is exhausting! This is how my trip went from Dar to my site…a 12 hour bus ride.
I woke up at 4:45 am, in a Dar guest house (YWCA), so that I could catch my 5 am taxi. I managed to get my two 50+lbs of luggage (brought back from America) down the several flights of stairs by myself. I then looked outside to find that the cab driver whom I talked to the day before had lied about being able to pick me up. The number he gave me was not reachable. I then proceeded to walk out to the road in hopes of finding a taxi. I knew that I’d be paying an absurd amount for a taxi then because it was obvious I was in a desperate situation (my bus tickets were bought the day before, and the bus does not wait on anyone). Luckily another woman staying at the same guest house had a ride scheduled to pick her up at 5am as well, and so I was able to get to the bus stand on time. Ubongo bus stand is possibly my least favorite place in TZ. I dread it because of the relentless nagging of cab drivers, luggage carriers, and ticket sellers. It’s normal for a man to grab my hand and take my luggage without permission. Buying tickets is also a stressful ordeal. I never know if the ticket I bought is genuine, or if the bus I booked is reliable. Every time I go to the ticket stand, a cluster of ticket sellers immediately finds me and asks where I’m going. One time I started following two men who said they’d show me to the ticket booth of the bus going to my destination, however before I got too far another man came over and told me that those men were trying to trick and take advantage of me. Once I got the ticket, the next step was to find the bus I needed to board. Finding a bus at 5 am is always a bit tricky because it’s still dark out. Once I found the bus, I crossed my fingers hoping I didn’t get tricked into buying a ticket for some non-existing bus. When my ticket and name was checked off the bus conductor’s list, it was time to put my luggage under the bus. Anytime I have luggage that needs to be stored below or above the bus, it’s a stressful ordeal. First I have to barter to get a realistic price to store my luggage. Then I have to sit on the bus for hours on the way to my destination just hoping my luggage has not been stolen or fallen off. I’ve actually witnessed my luggage falling out from underneath the bus. Theft is also common but so far it hasn’t happened to me. One valuable lesson I’ve learned during my service here is to not get too attached to material things. Possessions are so easily broken, stolen, or lost that it’s not even worth wasting time worrying about it.
Another stressor with TZ buses is that they never leave the time the ticket or bus staff says it will. Sometimes I arrive at 5am just to wait until 7am when the bus finally leaves the stand. Other times the buses actually leave before the scheduled time, but this has never happened to me yet.
Mahuta Express (Mahuta means oil in Makonde tribal language) goes through my village, so I usually take this bus line. However, Mahuta is definitely one of the worst buses out in Tanzania. It’s a known fact that the south has poorer quality buses than the rest of Tanzania because the south is the poorest area with less paved roads and fewer people willing to spend more money for nicer buses. I knew right as we pulled out of the bus stand that this ride on Mahuta Express was going to be a long, bumpy one. We were still on Dar’s paved streets yet I could feel each bump that we went over. I had to put my seat belt on right away in order to keep from flying off my seat. Unfortunately I got a seat in the back. Back seat passengers tend to get more height in their vertical with each pot hole. So I spent 12 hours gripping onto the seat in front of me and bouncing along in my seat. The only thing I can think to compare this ride to is maybe if you sit on a washing machine with something large and awkward in it…like tennis shoes banging around.
A few short stops were made on the way down south, since it’s such a long journey. The first break was chai break at 10 am and then we had a short lunch stop at 1pm. For lunch the bus always stops by a town full of rickety wooden booths selling chai (tea) and fried fish. However, this time our bus driver was in a hurry because he hoped to get ahead of the numerous buses stopped there that were also heading south. So we all stayed seated on the bus and bought our fish from outside the bus windows. I used to be disgusted seeing whole fried fish with scales, eyeballs, fins and all. However, after tasting one, I realized the taste of fried fresh fish surpasses the looks of it.
Very few stops are taken for bathroom breaks. Those with children either wrap their kids’ bottoms with plastic bags and rags or they bring an empty water bottle in case the kid needs to relieve himself. The bus conductor announces bathroom breaks by saying we have so many minutes to “chimba dawa” (dig for medicine). The bus then parks on the side of the road next to some tall yet easily accessible brush, if we’re lucky. Usually one side for men and one side of the road for women is quickly determined. Men don’t bother peeing discreetly; they just go right next to the bus. Women try to hide themselves in the bush, but there’s no privacy among the women. During chai break, I went with some other ladies searching for some tall grass to relieve myself in. The women were so amused that I could “dig for medicine” anywhere, just as they do.
There is a long stretch of road that is considerably worse than the rest of the journey. On a good day, it takes about 2 hours to get through it. This road has been under construction for years and there’s still plenty of work left to be done. There are usually several construction machines at work, but a lot of the labor is done by hand. I’ve only seen men work on this road; it definitely wouldn’t be an appropriate place for women to work…in the middle of nowhere. I cringe to think of the effect these construction workers have on the HIV transmission rate within the nearby villages. Anytime a highway is built, HIV rates generally increase because of the number of truck drivers, construction workers, and other traveling men that pass through looking for female companionship whereever their work takes them. It’s common for a man to have different families with several women, one family at each work site.
So anyway, this dirt road is pretty awful. Every Tanzanian dreads when the pavement comes to an end and we begin the long bumpy ride. I often think of how this road is similar to going over a bumpy cornfield, but with more swerves and close misses with other buses and trucks. The dust produced by all these vehicles is almost suffocating. Most people cover their hair, clothes, and nose and mouth when traveling through. There is no AC on the bus, so people have no choice but to open their windows. It’s often very hot and sticky because this road is close to the coast and the bus goes at a slower pace with all the bumps, so there’s less air circulating. I counted 95 seats in the bus, all occupied. However, it’s common for additional people to sit/stand in the middle aisle. And of course, there are chickens tied underneath some of the seats.
During the rainy season, many buses get stuck and people stay on the road for days. I had to be flown to get to a PC training because the muddy roads were packed with stuck traffic. I’ve only gotten stuck once on this road when the bus got too close to the shoulder; luckily a cement truck pulled us out immediately.
Once the dirt road ends you can see and hear people breathe a sigh of relief and finally relax.
Then it’s pavement for the rest of the journey except for the last 3.5 hour stretch up to my village. This road is completely out in the bush and it climbs up the steep slopes of the Makonde plateau. Sometimes the bus goes so slow, I wonder if it will stall and we’ll start rolling backwards. Going down is also a bit scary, especially with the condition most TZ buses are in. I’ve actually gotten out one time when I was riding a smaller bus, so that the bus could make it down the hill. It was a pretty funny sight seeing all the passengers, even elderly, cut through trails to meet the bus at the bottom of the winding, steep road. This same bus to Mtwara is what I often take and stand up in for five hours holding onto an overhead bar. The smaller buses are called daladalas, and are packed completely full of people…meaning no room to spare even with people standing.
As hellish as I’ve made this all sound, I actually still enjoy bus rides. I turn on my itunes and look outside at all the small villages we pass by. Bus rides allow me to see things from a bigger perspective and give me some thinking time to sort out struggles and memories. I always get quite a bit of attention being the only white person on the bus. People are shocked I know Swahili and then I get asked the same sort of questions “Do you have roads like this in America” and “Are you married”? The Mahuta bus driver and conductor were actually the first to ask me this marital status question…very professional. They kept pestering me even when I told them I was already married and I wasn’t interested in male visitors. A lot of times these guys are just joking because they have nothing better to do with their time. These two guys also recognized me as the teacher in Namiyonga. It’s nice not to be spotted as a tourist, but rather a resident. Actually, right before we left the bus stand in Dar I had to introduce myself and speak a little Makonde with all the bus passengers watching. Everyone was so curious why one lone white girl was going to the deep dirty south.
I found myself getting extremely anxious once we got close to my village. I was a bit worried about how I would get my luggage to my house. But I also wondered if my luggage was still all there or if the contents were scattered underneath the bus b/c of the bumpy ride. I was also anxious about how Namioyonga villagers would accept me and if I’d have anyone waiting for me at the bus stand.
Well I sure didn’t need to worry about the welcoming back part. The moment I got off the bus, a little girl shrieked “Kristina”! Then a swarm of kids gathered around me. Baba Ester pushed through the crowd of village children and greeted me excitedly. He was obviously very happy to have me back, and also a bit intoxicated, as usual. A couple of the men put my luggage bags on their bikes and the kids carried several other bags and small items. I felt like I was leading a parade. I greeted all the neighbors I passed. One lady started singing “Karibu tena Kristina” (Welcome back Kristina) and I shook all the women’s hands. The moment we reached my house I put my luggage inside and checked to make sure everything made it. What a miracle! I have no idea how I managed to retain everything from such a long journey. Baba called Mama Ester to come, and meanwhile I tried to get the 50+ kids on my porch to go home. The kids here are kind of like the flies here; you swat at them and they move, but they come back immediately. Mama Ester then came and gave me a hug and an air kiss above both shoulders. I could tell mama was ashamed of Baba’s drunken stupor, so she was pretty eager to get back to their house. Before they left mama told me not to worry about supper, they’d bring it over later so I could relax.
The boys who stayed overnight at my house while I was in America were the last ones to leave. I could tell they settled into my house pretty well. They acted as if it was their second home. Staying at my house must have been a big step up from the boys’ mud homes, and it was probably exciting for them having my place all to themselves. Before I told the boys to pack up and leave, I had them help me light the kerosene lamp. This actually took me awhile because I had lost my routine of dealing with no electricity. After helping me haul my water into my courtyard, the boys packed up and left for their nearby homes. Finally I was alone. I thought about the first night I had arrived in Namiyonga and how different this night was. The two biggest factors which had changed for me were 1) the people in the village know me and call me by my name, not “mzungu” (white foreigner) and 2)my house is now furnished and painted. More of a homey feeling to it now compared to when I first arrived to find only a wooden bed frame and dresser and grey concrete walls. Of course whenever I leave for an extended period of time, I worry about the creatures and insects that might have taken up residence while I was gone. That night I killed the biggest spider I’ve ever seen in my life, right behind my jiko stove. I had to bust out screaming my warrior cry while killing the 8 legged monster in order to have enough courage to get that close to it.
I put on water for chai and for my bucket bath while waiting for Mama Ester and Ester to come by with supper and evening chat. Soon enough there was a “hodi” at my door, and Issa was with them. I’m sure they were relieved to get rid of Issa. Although Issa killed a number of rats in their house each night, he also managed to kill 8 of their young chickens. I was surprised Issa was still alive since most villagers would not have the patience or resources to keep a chicken- killing cat. Mama left me with a hot pot of an enormous heap of rice (enough for at least 3 people) and cooked dried fish. Mama said everybody was saying I had lost weight in America (apparently everyone analyzed me the moment I got off the bus) and it was mama’s goal to fatten me up with ugali and rice…my starch diet. Then I would become “healthy” again. A lot of villagers asked me if people in America were shocked at how fat I had gotten. I think they were quite disappointed when I told them no, because they want to know for sure that my American family and friends saw that I have grown fat here because life is good and there’s plenty of food. Oh well, if I did actually lose weight, I’m sure I’ll be gaining that ugali weight back soon enough.
Issa is still the same cat. I was worried he’d change b/c of living in another home. However, he still likes to curl up in my lap and snuggle. Ah, it’s actually good to be back in Namiyonga. And it’s nice that this place finally feels like home now.
July 18, 2010
Today was an exhausting day. I went to church with Ester and Grey; it took us about 20 minutes to walk there, and when we arrived we found out there was no service. There was a funeral going on in the neighboring town, so the minister was gone for that. Once we got back to Ester’s house, mama fed us sugary chai and leftover rice and cow peas from last night. I then went back to my house to get things cleaned and organized. Later a bunch of kids came over, so I decided to bust out the kites for the first time. They absolutely loved the kites. I also introduced pick-up sticks and Twister. My courtyard, front porch and yard were packed full of kids playing, watching, or asking for a ball or game. I asked several of the girls to help with house chores such as washing dishes, sweeping the courtyard, and making Issa uji (corn porridge).
The whole “zawadi” thing (gifts) has been quite exhausting. I spent all yesterday just greeting people and giving away candy, a few stuffed animals, pencils/pens, bags, etc, depending on the family and individual. It soon got chaotic handing out gifts to the kids. They pushed and shoved in order to get a hold of a pencil, and I still have kids coming to my house begging for a pen or pencil. Ha, I can remember getting pencils every year for Halloween and not appreciating it as much as candy. I didn’t realize at that time that a pencil really was a “treat”. The kids hardly have anything here. Most can’t afford shoes, even flip flops. Many carry torn plastic bags as their book bags, which hold their precious notebook and pen that their families have to pay for.
I gave Mama Ester one of mom’s dresses, and it fit her perfectly. I gave Baba Ester reading glasses, and the whole family was excited that he could finally read fine print again. Ester got one of the dolls. I keep a stuffed Antelope from my college days on my coffee table in my house. I’ve had several kids actually start crying when they first saw it b/c it looked so real and unusual to them. Even older kids were kinda spooked by my stuffed animal.
Apparently my cat Issa hooked up with a stray female cat. Mama Ester happened to catch a small kitten that looks like a miniature Issa. We’re pretty sure Issa is now a baba.
Something I’ve noticed that’s changed about my perspective of being in the village; I no longer care so much about perfecting my Swahili and tribal language. I know enough to get by and get work done and I know that after one more year, Swahili will have no use for me anymore. I’ve also noticed that I’ve become much more relaxed with how I spend my time, especially when working on getting my own things done in the house. I used to worry so much about spending enough time out in the village, getting to know people and making contacts. I feel like I now know enough people to have contacts to work with and most importantly, I feel like Namiyonga is home. I’ve also realized I’ve grown accustomed to making kids do my errands and housework for me. I used to feel kinda odd about sending a kid to the market to buy a kilo of sugar, or hoe the weeds in my sweet potatoes. I used to get overwhelmed with so many kids around (I’m living on primary school grounds) but now I see it as great potential to have assistance getting work around my house done.
Overall, I’ve noticed after coming back to Namiyonga that I’ve become more relaxed and care free. A lot of it has to do with being half way done, and also the 3 week break I had in America. My trip back to America reminded me that family is the most important part of my life, not how many successful projects I can get going in my community, or the close contacts I make with my villagers. The various stresses I’m dealing with now in Namiyonga aren’t going to be with me forever, and my family will still love me and have confidence in me no matter what hardships and struggles I go through doing my PC service. I think dad’s accident helped magnify that life is precious and the little petty problems that we often focus too much on don’t even matter down the road. Airplane rides always do wonders putting things into perspective. Being so high up and looking down to see several continents all in a day makes one think a little differently about life in this world. I think I realized then on the plane that I shouldn’t take everything so seriously in Tanzania; that my time is short here and I’ll be done before I know it.
I’ve actually been told by several PCVs in my group that I’m one of the most stable people in our group. I was a bit surprised to hear this, for I definitely haven’t felt so stable. However, I realized I have developed certain mechanisms to help reduce shock and slowly deal with things. From the very beginning of arriving in TZ, I’ve been wearing blinders around my eyes so that I could take things in slowly and not get too overwhelmed with everything. I forced myself not to overanalyze things, or even think about something until it happens. I actually learned this trick of not thinking ahead and psyching myself out because of dreaded junior high and high school track meets, and how I couldn’t think about the race b/c I’d get too nervous. So I didn’t think about the race until I was running it. Now after a year of living in TZ, I feel like I can finally take those blinders completely off and be able to analyze my surroundings more thoroughly without feeling too overwhelmed.
July 19, 2010
Mama Ester was a bit upset with me yesterday because I didn’t show up for supper. I didn’t think she was expecting me because Ester brought over cow peas earlier that day with strict instructions to teach me how to cook “mbaazi”. I decided to make split pea soup which was just mind boggling for Tanzanians to see a different way to cook something. For everything, especially with cooking, there’s only one right way to do things…even when it comes to cutting onions. So I didn’t go to Ester’s for supper and I guess Mama specifically made extra “pweza” (half dried/fresh squid tentacles). I’ve been eating there a lot lately, for chai time and supper. Maybe I won’t get another house girl (I had a house girl for awhile but she got married during the time I was in America) and instead eat at Ester’s in order to save time from cooking.
Mama asked the other day if I could buy her a cell phone. Sometimes I wondered what Esters’ family intentions where when they first started inviting me to be a part of their family. However, here that’s what families do, they help each other out, including financially.
Mama has mentioned numerous times that I’ve lost weight and she was a bit disappointed when I said no one in America said I looked fat (b/c in America you get slapped for that). Today my neighbor, Mwalimu (teacher) Hittu looked at some of my photos and said I looked so fat and fit in the pictures before I left for America and I shouldn’t go back to America b/c I have better health in Tanzania. Apparently they did mean it as a compliment when they kept telling me I was getting fat, or bouncer as Hittu calls it. Mama even said she wants me to get healthy again…aka fat. She’s already working on it. Tomorrow I’ll be eating ground nuts at her place for breakfast.
There was an outdoor movie showing in my village tonight. The video was about protecting oneself from malaria by using mosquito nets properly. Numerous people gave their testimonies in the video, one being a mother of 4 children, all but one died of malaria. There were a lot of songs and silly skits within the video. Tanzanians seem to enjoy really exaggerated, obnoxious humor. Anyway, this night was so different from the rest. First of all, I never walk around at night. Secondly, there was a huge screen and stereo system set up, like an outdoor theatre and the whole town was standing in the market square in front of this enormous screen. It’s just funny to see the sharp contrast of traditional village life (women in khangas and kids running half naked and barefoot) mixed with modern, expensive equipment.
July 20, 2010
Today the kids spent the whole day carefully laying rocks/pieces of brick around the school yard. Then they busied themselves with painting limestone over each rock to create white markers on both sides of the paths leading to the school house. Yesterday the kids were busy cutting grass and low limbs of the mango tree using their machetes. They also spent a lot of time thickening the walls of the school choos with more palm leaves. The big hustle and bustle in my village is all in preparation for the Freedom Torch which is coming thru Namiyonga on Thursday this week. Apparently it’s a big deal…the teachers and I all have matching track suits…and the women here never wear pants!
-Today I showed Ester’s family pictures from my 3 weeks in America. When I showed a picture of dad in the hospital, Ester got up and sat behind the kitchen shed. I found out later she had been crying because it upset her so much to see dad in so much pain.
- The temps dropped down to 60 F last night and I was freezing! During the day it’s lower to mid 80’s. Perfect weather during the day.
- I taught English to Form 2 (comparable to high school freshmen) students after school. I enjoy teaching English a lot. It’s one thing I feel qualified to teach. I’ve been tutoring English to a Form 1 boy, Shariufu (the 14 yr old boy who guarded my house when I was gone). He’s very bright and tries hard in school. After Secondary School he wants to study in Tanga to become a Muslim teacher.
- Water is already becoming scarce in my village. People use the tiniest amount of water when bathing; most just splash water on their limbs and face. My storage well (about 20ft deep and 8 feet wide) is a little more than half full. I’m using water I collected during the rainy season (Dec-April) and the water is still okay. I boil and filter the water I drink, so I can’t tell much of a difference with old, standing water. The water I have now needs to last me until December when it starts raining again. The lack of rain has completely changed the appearance of Namiyonga village. Now a light brown color has replaced most of the vibrant bright shades of green grass, crops, and trees. I’m already missing the vegetables such as tomatoes, spinach, and other leafy greens. I’m lucky though that I’m in an area with a lot of fruit. Right now I’m eating about 7 oranges and tangerines a day. Kids and my neighbors bring me over a bunch, and I pay less than 10 cents to get 6-8 oranges. I also eat a lot of bananas because they produce all year long.
- Here is a random short list of things I advise other volunteers/travelers that are going to live in a third world country: headlamp flashlight, quick dry towels, music (including Christmas music) on ipod/mp3 and speakers (preferably without using batteries), AA and AAA batteries, shortwave radio, vegetable peeler, a few good kitchen knives, American card games, pictures from home you can use to describe yourself and life in America, Nalgene bottle, Emergency C packets, hygiene products such as shampoo, facewash, baby wipes (always good for bus trips when there’s no water to wash hands), and deodorant even though no one else wears it.
July 23, 2010
I taught at Mkuchika Secondary School today. Every Wednesday I and one of the teachers, Mr. Mkambala, teach a selected group of students about health, peer pressure, and HIV and AIDS. The goal is to teach this group of students so that they can go around to surrounding schools to teach and perform skits/role plays.
Today I had the kids map out their villages and specify where people were most susceptible to contacting HIV. These main target areas were the bar, late night cinema (villagers use a generator to show videos), and houses that sell homemade alcohol. I also had students point out where orphans and widows were living. Just recently, Namiyonga’s VEO (Village Executive Officer) died and left behind 4 wives and their children. For 40 days they’ll be in mourning for him (the wives only wear black now) and then the women will most likely go live in separate places. Some might get married again, but they wouldn’t all marry one man. Not only is this death hard for the family, but it’s literally breaking up the family. It’s so different here with polygamy. When a man dies, he leaves several wives and lots of children behind that were all dependent on him.
As I was eating at Mama Ester’s, we heard the announcement guy pass by the house. This guy gets paid to go down the streets of Namiyonga belting out announcements of meetings, funerals, and gatherings. Usually he starts late night or early morning, when things in the village quiet down. This time he was announcing the details of the Freedom Torch which will pass through tomorrow.
I bought beef tonight for mama to cook. Tanzanians eat about any part of an animal. Ester was telling me how good cow brain and goat skin are. I thought I was doing good trying chicken foot and half dried octopus tentacles. People in America win money on shows such as Fear Factor or Survivor eating the sort of things Tanzanians consider normal meals.
Mama Ester caught a kitten a few days ago and is holding the poor thing hostage until it gets used to people and calms down. I can hear the kitten cry from across the road, and after 2 long nights of the kitten’s continuous meowing, the whole family is ready to get rid of it… except for Mama Ester. Rats are such a nuisance in the house, Mama would rather listen to the incredibly loud and pathetic cry from the distraught kitten than deal with damage caused by rats each night. The rats eat the family’s stored corn & any food lying around. Baba was even afraid to leave a spraying applicator out because rats might chew and destroy it. Mama told me there’s a family on the outskirts of the village whose kids have scars all over their arms and legs because the rats nibble at them when they’re asleep. I haven’t seen these kids yet, but I actually believe it. I read in a book of another Peace Corps volunteer’s experience that the village kids took care to wash their hands well after eating at night so the rats wouldn’t nibble on their fingers thinking their fingers were food. Back to the kitten; it’s a carbon copy of Issa. Apparently when I was in America and Issa was staying at Mama Ester’s house, he managed to escape one night and didn’t come back until the next morning. Mama was so worried that she had lost Issa, but Issa was just out with one of his lady friends. Many of the villagers joke that we’ll need to hold a Muslim wedding for Issa now that he has a girlfriend; with suit, tie and everything. Just this morning the kitten mysteriously “ran away”. Later Ester confided in me that she purposely assisted the kitty’s escape due to it’s unrelenting yowling.
It’s funny to hear Ester and the whole family try to mimic me by saying “kitty kitty” really fast when calling Issa.
July 24, 2010
Mwenge came to Namiyonga today. Mwenge is the flaming freedom torch that represents Tanzania’s Independence. This event consisted of lots of dancing, drumming, choirs, and speeches from govt officials. Mwenge goes through every district of every region once a year, and there is only one torch. I’ve never seen so many cars in my village (about 10 cars lined up, parade style). The teachers and other village officials wore matching track suits (I wore one as well) which was a pretty big deal, especially since it may have been the very first time some of the women wore pants.
At the Mwenge event, someone came up to me and asked if I was from Japan. I thought this was kinda funny, especially since I tower over most of the adults there.
July 31, 2010
I just got news that another PC volunteer will be located just a 10 minute bike ride from my house! There are a total of 9 new volunteers coming to Mtwara region, and three of them will be in Newala district. I’m really excited to meet these new volunteers and have Americans as close neighbors. They’ll be coming in less than a month. Ben and Toni will be my closest neighbors. Both are in their mid-twenties. Ben is from South Carolina and Toni is from Louisiana.
It felt so weird to say goodbye to the older volunteers in my region who just left. I remember when I first came to my site and how I looked up to the old PCVs for advice and how I felt like they had mastered Kiswahili, projects and overall life in TZ. I remember not understanding why they didn’t have very many projects going at the time I met them, and I wondered what they did for a whole year. Now I know, it takes a lot of time and effort just to get adjusted into vill life and develop connections with the villagers. I’m glad I’m now the “old pcv” so that I can actually help out these newbies rather than be helped and always rely on others.
Random Memory: One night a bunch of us PCVs were sitting outside of a bar near the Masasi bus stand, eating chipsi and drinking the local lager. We were all a little curious why the volunteer in Masasi town, Luke, hadn’t shown up yet. A bit later, Luke came and sat down with us and apologized that he was late because he had to park his car. We all laughed at this joke because of course Luke didn’t own a car; none of us were allowed to drive during our 2 yrs of PC service. When we finished our beers and were ready to go, Luke told us to stay put, he’d be right there to pick us up in his car. Thinking he was just going to use this car joke all night, we laughed and yet wondered, was he actually serious?! Soon a white beat-up car came past our table with Luke behind the wheel. We acted like twelve years olds again…..all giddy that we were in a car and breaking rules. We laughed all the way to his place, still completely amused at how Luke got ahold of a car. Later we found out that his neighbors had asked him to drive their car back from their farm, and Luke then got permission to use the family car for that night. Good memories….
Random note: Grey (Ester’s little brother, around 8 yrs old) asked me what the toilet paper roll I had been carrying in my bag was for. I was using the tp as kleenex for my cold. Grey was just amused with tp because he’s never seen it before. Here they just use left hand and water…why you don’t ever shake someone’s left hand or even hand something over with left hand. Very offensive.
Baba Ester was very excited about his copy of the Nance County Journal article of my experience in TZ. Baba is a retired education officer, so he knows enough English and was able to understand and even translated the article for other older men hanging around the market. Baba was so proud to show other villagers how his family had made the American news, me being included in his family. I don’t even know if my district or region has a newspaper here. If there is, no one in my village is able to afford it.
August 1, 2010
It’s very late as I’m writing this mainly due to a rat incident. I was about to take my bucket bath, opened the bathroom door and found a rat in the bucket I was planning on using to bathe. My automatic instinct was to grab Issa, throw him in the direction of the rat, and close the door of my house. Issa has a tendency to bring everything he catches into the house (I’ve had rats, chickens, squirrels, and lizards all drug into my house…but Issa doesn’t kill them immediately. His victims desperately try to escape, and sometime the escape leads to my bedroom.) Anyway, after an unnecessary process of prolonging torture and lots of squeaking, the rat was dead and I was able to continue with my nightly routine.
Earlier tonight I was caught off guard when I got a knock on my door around 8:30 pm. No one comes around at night, so I’m extra cautious whenever I get a “hodi” at my door after dusk. It happened to be my neighbor boys wanting to know if they could borrow some matches. They had spotted a bee hive earlier that day and wanted to smoke the bees out. I was curious how this worked so I went along with them. I watched completely amused as the boys climbed up a tree in the dark with ease. The first tree’s hive was empty. But the second attempt with a hollowed out tree next to it was successful. The boys stuck long bundles of burning grass in each side near the hive, while another boy collected the honeycombs by rolling a stick inside the hive. These boys acted like pros, and I was impressed by how gracefully they handled everything. I tried to imagine kids in America doing this, but most kids are so stuck to their tvs, they wouldn’t bother venturing outside, nor would that be very safe in many parts of the country to play outside after dark. Anyway, I found this idea of collecting honey very interesting and it got me thinking of looking into a beekeeping project.
August 6, 2010
These thoughts from Moritz Thomsen, Peace Corps Volunteer and author of “Living Poor”, were interesting and very much pertain to life as I see it every day in my village.
“People who are poor buy things when needed. Villagers may go to the market 3 times a day or send a child for each time”
- I see this all the time and I always feel a bit guilty about buying things in bulk b/c villagers know I have enough money to do so. I often see kids with water bottles on their way to the market to buy just 4 tablespoons or less of oil. They’ll have to do the same thing every night, or even before every meal. However, villagers don’t have much money to go around, and they never know when they might have to pay for something unexpected such as medicines or a trip to the doctor.
“Poor people steal; this is a trait they have in common with the rich, whose thefts vary only in the degree of the necessity and the quality of the theft”
August 7, 2010
Today was kinda hard, not being there for Melissa (my cousin) and Austin’s wedding. I spent the day in my village imagining what was happening a continent away. The time difference makes this separation and distance even harder. So weird to think that when I was getting ready for bed, Melissa and Austin were saying their vows, and the next morning when I woke up, people were probably busting out their last dance moves at the wedding reception. Missing big family events is definitely one of the harder things to deal with when being overseas.
August 12, 2010
Almost all the people in my village are Muslims, therefore a majority of them have begun fasting for Ramadan today. Ramadan lasts for 30 days, and begins only after spotting the moon (not sure how this works exactly). Those who are fasting cannot eat or drink anything until 6:00-6:30pm (some people take off one minute starting at 6:30 the first night, then 6:29pm the next night, etc). For this meal, people are supposed to sit in an open place so they can invite passersbys to join them. Fasting starts after 4 am, so those fasting wake up at 3am to eat. It’s hard to come by food in the market (only food which you buy to cook later is available), and even my favorite juice man in Newala quit making juice until Ramadan is over. I’ll be celebrating Eid-ul-Fitr (last day of Ramadan) because there will finally be food available!
August 27, 2010
This morning at 5am, as I made my way to the village bus stand, I noticed a bunch of big white lumps near a fire. Apparently the 10 yr old boy who was suffering from a liver disease passed away during the night. It’s tradition, for Muslims and Christians, that close family members and friends spend three nights at the house of the deceased. Therefore these white lumps were men in their white Muslim robes sleeping on mats in front of the house. I didn’t see the women because they sleep inside.
September 3, 2010
Most of the Mid Service Conference consisted of health checkups. I have been really healthy so far, so I didn’t have any problems getting through the checkups, although the dental checkup was a bit unnerving. The dentist used unfamiliar tools and fluids, and she didn’t know a whole lot of English (she’s from Yugoslavia). It was hard to be reassured that my checkup would be fine because I was not familiar with this dentist. I realized that I take a lot for granted when I’m able to trust medical and dental professionals in America.
September 5, 2010
I’m on a Dar es Salaam bus heading back to my village returning from my Mid-Service Conference. I woke up at 5 am with the other pcvs who were also traveling south. I planned to take a separate bus than the rest of the pcvs because I wanted a bus that takes me straight thru my village. However, after all the pcvs left, a man from the ticket office informed me that the bus I was waiting for wasn’t coming. Apparently when I bought my ticket, the men working the ticket booth lied about the bus running today. Luckily I got my money back from the same bus line at a different ticket office. Then I managed to grab a taxi to race to the last bus stand in Dar in order to get on another bus heading to Newala. I always worried about this happening…buying a ticket for a bus that doesn’t exist or isn’t running. I won’t miss the lack of reliability with transportation here in TZ. As I write this now, I believe we’re on our fourth try going thru the weigh station. Not sure what they plan on doing…getting rid of people, luggage, or just paying a bribe or fine for being over the weight limit. There is one thing though that I might actually miss about Tanzanian buses. Traveling together with a group forms a bond, especially during breakdowns and long stall periods of waiting/ time at weigh stations. Sometimes in America we can be too independent and rushed to take the opportunity to sit and chat with a stranger.
September 5, 2010
Mom called to tell me my cousin Tara had a baby boy….the first baby coming from my generation. It’s crazy to think that Tara and Jake are now parents and my grandparents are now great grandparents. Time keeps moving fast…
I remember in America how Labor Day weekend marked the last warm days of the summer. Kinda hard to imagine that here in TZ. I miss the changes of seasons in Nebraska. Here in TZ it’s either really dry or it’s raining almost every day. The only seasons I keep track of here are the fruit seasons: oranges/tangerines – June/July/August, mangoes – Dec/Jan, etc.
The number of lies I tell when shopping in the market or on a bus is outrageous. Usually the lies are used to deter a guy from bothering me. I lie about having a husband (I often use Issa as my “husband”…so I’m not completely lying. He is male and he’s living at my house) and not having a phone so I don’t have a number to give. Sometimes it gets a bit difficult to keep track of these lies, and I’ve caught myself forgetting that I can’t check my text messages because I “don’t have a phone”. Depending on my mood and the person whom I’m talking to, sometimes making up these stories is kinda fun and I enjoy joking around. Others days I just can’t get rid of an annoying guy or I’m too tired to bother getting creative with my stories.
September 7, 2010
Today Ester came over and warned me that if an unknown number comes up or a text in red appears on my phone, not to answer my phone. Apparently there have been numerous deaths of people who made the fatal mistake of taking these phone calls or reading the text. I laughed when Ester told me this, but later that evening Mama Ester came to my house. Mama was seriously worried, and made the walk to my house to double check that I understood it. I guess these deaths due to cursed phone call/text messages have been announced thru Kenya news, and all over Tanzanian people know about this.
Today some Form 2 students got “fukuza”, kicked out of school. Apparently five Form 2 girls are now pregnant; therefore they are no longer allowed to continue their secondary school studies. The two male teachers (actually the only teachers) asked if I had anything to say to these girls or to give them advice on what they should do. I had nothing to say, except that I thought the girls should still be allowed to study. These girls are around 15 yrs old, and apparently the “daddies” are older village men.
September 10, 2010
Today my villagers celebrated Eid-ul-Fitr (last day of Ramadan). It was a big deal. A cow was slaughtered in the morning and sold in the market. Everyone was wearing new/best outfits and prepared the best meal they could afford (rice, seasoned rice, and some kind of meat). I was invited over to my home repairman’s place along with Toni and Ben. We were given pilau (seasoned rice with meat) and given a place inside his house to eat while the rest of his family ate plain rice outside. Later that night the three of us went to the disco held in my village. I danced with the craziest little 2.5 yr old dancer. He could bust better moves than all three of us volunteers. I guess the Secondary School Academic master told his students not to attend the dance b/c they would get pregnant. Probably not too far from the truth b/c most people there were young men, and many of them were drinking.
September 15, 2010
I went to Mama Ester’s dad’s funeral. Almost the entire village attends a funeral, even if one doesn’t know who died. For Muslim funerals, only the men are allowed to be near the body and bury it. They sit in front of the house and pray while the women sing back behind the house. The women’s singing is really neat to see. They make a big circle and get on their knees, and make strange, deep grunting noises as they sway their upper body and arms. I hope I can get a video of it b/c there is no way to describe it. Because funerals involve the whole village, funerals act as a social gathering. One boy told me he enjoys funerals b/c people sit around and tell stories. There is definitely sorrow at these funerals, but only from the intimate family members and friends, and often they’re hidden from view, or in the house. Otherwise, funerals I’ve seen aren’t that gloomy. Actually at this last funeral, a man was walking around the groups of women selling nose earrings (most Muslim women here have their nose pierced). For the dress code, all the women cover their heads (I cover mine as well, which gets the villagers excited b/c I look like a Muslim). Men wear white Muslim robes with hats. Money is collected during ceremony, less than 4 cents, although there are villagers who say they don’t even have that to give. For both Christian and Muslim funerals, close family and friends spend 3 nights at the deceased person’s house. The men sleep outside and the women sleep inside.
Water is becoming harder and harder to come by. Villagers have to use the little water they have wisely, and sometimes it’s a choice between cooking and bathing. Even fruit, such as papaya or melon, is used as an alternative for water to cook rice. Starting last week, I’ve been helping one pregnant mother by allowing her to take water from my well for free. She comes during the evenings to fetch water so that not very many people will see her and ask where she’s getting her water from. I’m worried I’ll have more people come asking me for water, and I’ll have to be selfish and say no, otherwise there won’t be enough water for me in the coming months. It’s funny b/c I came here with a big helping heart. I wanted to help everyone to the best of my ability. Well here, everyone could use some help, and I always have to be on guard so I don’t get taken advantage of. Obviously I can’t help everyone, and I have to be selective about who I help.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
I realize how poorly I’ve done with keeping up a blog. The fact that reliable internet is a 10 -hour round trip away does not make updating my blog very feasible. However, it’s very important to me to keep family and friends back home informed of my Tanzania experience. Therefore, my goal is to post a blog once a month. Not only am I going to try to sum up what happens each current month, but I’m also going to include last year’s journal entries for that same month…a year ago. This way you can get the background of where I’m at now. And maybe you might also see the different changes and stages I’ve gone through during my service. I look forward to sharing my Peace Corps experience with you. I hope you learn at least a small fraction of what I have discovered living here in Tanzania. Oh…and as usual, everything I state in my blog is all my opinion and my experience…not necessarily the Peace Corps. If you want to check out my photos, I have been putting all my photos on Facebook because I can upload them there easier. I’ll try to do a picture or two on my blog as well. Alrighty! I’ll be talking to you all next month then!
Kristi
Kristi
July 1, 2010
Yesterday I said my goodbyes to my family and boarded the plane for Tanzania. I had three legs in my flight: Omaha-Newark-Amsterdam-Dar es Saalam. All flights were pleasant and I enjoyed talking to the interesting people I sat next to. On the Omaha-Newark flight, I got a free flash drive and company pen from a Newark business man. From Newark to Amsterdam I sat next to two Americans, a middle aged man who works with a NGO (nonprofit government organization) and the other, a college student on her way to Italy for a one month study abroad program. The last stretch of my flight I conversed with a US government international education specialist, and she was actually on her way to my region, Mtwara. It was quite a coincidence that we sat right next to each other and had the same exact destination out of all the areas in Tanzania. I helped a little by informing her about life in Mtwara and what to expect. She promised to keep in touch and maybe down the road I might get useful education materials from her to use with my students. The entire flight back took about 34 hrs. Time actually went fast, especially since I spent most of the time sleeping or watching movies that I knew I wouldn’t have the opportunity to see later on.
It was such a different feeling landing in Tanzania for the second time. I didn’t experience the anxiety and homesickness that I did the first time I landed in Tanzania. I knew to expect the thick humidity and the unrelenting pestering of Tanzanian taxi drivers after stepping outside the airport building. Unfortunately my checked luggage got lost somewhere during my flight changes. It’s kinda funny because I just expect these unlucky incidents to happen because I’m in a third world country. I’m never too surprised whenever things get stolen, lost, or broken. Jenny Beth (a Mtwara PCV from my training group) met me at the airport and we stayed at an expats’ (a working American couple living in Tanzania…aka ex patriots) house before going to Morogoro for Community Theatre training. Thankfully my checked luggage arrived the night of July 4, right before I left Dar es Salaam. JB and I celebrated Independence Day by eating ice cream next to the ocean and watching movies all night. The couple whose house we stayed at actually wasn’t around the entire weekend, so we had the whole place to ourselves. It was a pretty big deal because they had running water, western toilets, electricity, TV, a stove and even a washer and dryer. It was nice that I could slowly adjust back to Tanzania by spending time in a semi-American home.
July 8, 2010
Community theatre training here in Morogoro is going well. We performed two skits and a choir song for a girls’ secondary school nearby. Both skits were about young girls being pressured to have relations with older males, even teachers, in order to get tuition money or material things: new clothes, cell phones, etc. It’s very common for 13-15 year old girls to become pregnant because they don’t have the confidence in themselves to say “no” to male authority figures, or men in general. Once girls become pregnant, they are banned from school. Very seldom do these girls get the chance to continue with their studies later on. Other girls choose to abort their baby, although it’s extremely risky due to poor medical practices and many girls suffer from the psychological consequences long after an abortion. So the skits and song we performed focused on resisting pressure to have sex at a young age, and instead focus on their studies in order to secure a better life by receiving an education.
July 11, 2010
After one year of being in this country, it’s interesting to hear the different viewpoints from my Peace Corps peers about their role as PCVs. One of the biggest struggles Peace Corps volunteers face is finding purpose in the work we do because of the amount of time, effort, and sacrifices we make in order to live in a completely different culture and lifestyle. Often times we have to remind ourselves that two out of the three Peace Corps goals are about learning and sharing American culture with Tanzanians and Tanzanian culture with Americans. Before I left America, I remember reading somewhere in a Peace Corps article that it’s important for volunteers to keep their expectations low and their hopes high. I also heard from other volunteers that I shouldn’t be too hard on myself if I struggle to make even a dent in improving village life, or if projects don’t turn out as planned. It’s almost impossible for change to occur in a two year term when villagers have been practicing methods for decades, even centuries. Also many villagers feel they can’t afford the risk of trying a new method because they have nothing to fall back on if the new method fails. Sometimes I worry foreigners and volunteers are doing more harm than good because we expect what worked for our country to work the same in Tanzania. It’s also a poor choice when money gets handed to villagers. Often time money gets into the hands of the wrong people, or villagers don’t feel pride in what they were given if they didn’t have to contribute anything to earn it. Either way, money is often mishandled and it doesn’t go where originally designated.
A few volunteers and I spent one evening chatting about some of the challenges we faced and interesting observations about our experience so far as PCVs.
1) The happiest volunteers seem to be those who focus on making friends with the villagers and just learning and experiencing as much as possible in the village. The most stressed out volunteers are those who take on too many projects and try to force change in the village. Actually, sometimes I wonder how much “change” really is necessary to make Tanzania better. Of course poverty is not good, and a lot of problems stem from this…food shortage, lack of medical facilities, no school funding, unsanitary living conditions, etc. However, I don’t think being a highly developed country such as the USA is perfect either even though we’re so advanced. America has its own set of problems…as will any country. Tanzania has so much potential, and a lot of great resources. It just makes me sad to see how much it has changed to become more like the western world and how much of its own culture is being lost: language, customs, traditions, and art (dress, dance & music). It’s crazy to think that I might be part of the last generation to hear the Makonde people (the tribe in my region) speak their native tongue. Already a lot of languages have been lost, and little or nothing is documented on these languages.
2) We also discussed Tanzanian men. It’s hard to get over the possibility that most Tanzanian men are interested in us only because they believe we have money (which we probably do compared to them) and we’re a way for them to get into America. Just being lighter skinned makes any white woman here automatically attractive. Poverty brings people down to a pretty low level, the survival level. Therefore it’s difficult to know if we can completely trust a village man or woman here because they most likely want something out of a volunteer; especially money for clothing, school fees, medicine, etc.
3) Another big challenge living in a foreign country is failing to be completely understood by the natives, specifically my personality and who I really am. Because of the language barrier, and Tanzanians’ different outlook on life, many volunteers don’t feel like Tanzanians will ever be able to see who we are on the inside. It’s interesting because the volunteers who struggled to fit in with America’s culture, actually do really well in Tanzania. That’s because quite a few people aren’t used to feeling so accepted nor do they ever receive the amount of attention they do living here in TZ. Any foreigners, especially white people, automatically get attention because of their different appearance and the association of white skin and money. There are two things that you have to do to make Tanzanians like you. 1) Speak Swahili and local tribal language. It doesn’t really matter much about your personality. If you speak their language, and enjoy being loud and open with your thoughts and feelings, then they’ll love you. 2) Wear Tanzanian clothes and practice what the villagers do…farming, laundry by hand, cooking, etc. It baffles them that Americans can actually do manual work. Anyway, neither of those things hit the core of who I am. It’s a pretty shallow view of what Tanzanians see in me. I suppose if I stayed long enough I might be better able to express myself, but my color will always be the first thing they see and use to label me. For sure it’s definitely a good experience to feel what it’s like to be a minority. I also realize how nice it is to know I have a place where I belong, America.
Yesterday I said my goodbyes to my family and boarded the plane for Tanzania. I had three legs in my flight: Omaha-Newark-Amsterdam-Dar es Saalam. All flights were pleasant and I enjoyed talking to the interesting people I sat next to. On the Omaha-Newark flight, I got a free flash drive and company pen from a Newark business man. From Newark to Amsterdam I sat next to two Americans, a middle aged man who works with a NGO (nonprofit government organization) and the other, a college student on her way to Italy for a one month study abroad program. The last stretch of my flight I conversed with a US government international education specialist, and she was actually on her way to my region, Mtwara. It was quite a coincidence that we sat right next to each other and had the same exact destination out of all the areas in Tanzania. I helped a little by informing her about life in Mtwara and what to expect. She promised to keep in touch and maybe down the road I might get useful education materials from her to use with my students. The entire flight back took about 34 hrs. Time actually went fast, especially since I spent most of the time sleeping or watching movies that I knew I wouldn’t have the opportunity to see later on.
It was such a different feeling landing in Tanzania for the second time. I didn’t experience the anxiety and homesickness that I did the first time I landed in Tanzania. I knew to expect the thick humidity and the unrelenting pestering of Tanzanian taxi drivers after stepping outside the airport building. Unfortunately my checked luggage got lost somewhere during my flight changes. It’s kinda funny because I just expect these unlucky incidents to happen because I’m in a third world country. I’m never too surprised whenever things get stolen, lost, or broken. Jenny Beth (a Mtwara PCV from my training group) met me at the airport and we stayed at an expats’ (a working American couple living in Tanzania…aka ex patriots) house before going to Morogoro for Community Theatre training. Thankfully my checked luggage arrived the night of July 4, right before I left Dar es Salaam. JB and I celebrated Independence Day by eating ice cream next to the ocean and watching movies all night. The couple whose house we stayed at actually wasn’t around the entire weekend, so we had the whole place to ourselves. It was a pretty big deal because they had running water, western toilets, electricity, TV, a stove and even a washer and dryer. It was nice that I could slowly adjust back to Tanzania by spending time in a semi-American home.
July 8, 2010
Community theatre training here in Morogoro is going well. We performed two skits and a choir song for a girls’ secondary school nearby. Both skits were about young girls being pressured to have relations with older males, even teachers, in order to get tuition money or material things: new clothes, cell phones, etc. It’s very common for 13-15 year old girls to become pregnant because they don’t have the confidence in themselves to say “no” to male authority figures, or men in general. Once girls become pregnant, they are banned from school. Very seldom do these girls get the chance to continue with their studies later on. Other girls choose to abort their baby, although it’s extremely risky due to poor medical practices and many girls suffer from the psychological consequences long after an abortion. So the skits and song we performed focused on resisting pressure to have sex at a young age, and instead focus on their studies in order to secure a better life by receiving an education.
July 11, 2010
After one year of being in this country, it’s interesting to hear the different viewpoints from my Peace Corps peers about their role as PCVs. One of the biggest struggles Peace Corps volunteers face is finding purpose in the work we do because of the amount of time, effort, and sacrifices we make in order to live in a completely different culture and lifestyle. Often times we have to remind ourselves that two out of the three Peace Corps goals are about learning and sharing American culture with Tanzanians and Tanzanian culture with Americans. Before I left America, I remember reading somewhere in a Peace Corps article that it’s important for volunteers to keep their expectations low and their hopes high. I also heard from other volunteers that I shouldn’t be too hard on myself if I struggle to make even a dent in improving village life, or if projects don’t turn out as planned. It’s almost impossible for change to occur in a two year term when villagers have been practicing methods for decades, even centuries. Also many villagers feel they can’t afford the risk of trying a new method because they have nothing to fall back on if the new method fails. Sometimes I worry foreigners and volunteers are doing more harm than good because we expect what worked for our country to work the same in Tanzania. It’s also a poor choice when money gets handed to villagers. Often time money gets into the hands of the wrong people, or villagers don’t feel pride in what they were given if they didn’t have to contribute anything to earn it. Either way, money is often mishandled and it doesn’t go where originally designated.
A few volunteers and I spent one evening chatting about some of the challenges we faced and interesting observations about our experience so far as PCVs.
1) The happiest volunteers seem to be those who focus on making friends with the villagers and just learning and experiencing as much as possible in the village. The most stressed out volunteers are those who take on too many projects and try to force change in the village. Actually, sometimes I wonder how much “change” really is necessary to make Tanzania better. Of course poverty is not good, and a lot of problems stem from this…food shortage, lack of medical facilities, no school funding, unsanitary living conditions, etc. However, I don’t think being a highly developed country such as the USA is perfect either even though we’re so advanced. America has its own set of problems…as will any country. Tanzania has so much potential, and a lot of great resources. It just makes me sad to see how much it has changed to become more like the western world and how much of its own culture is being lost: language, customs, traditions, and art (dress, dance & music). It’s crazy to think that I might be part of the last generation to hear the Makonde people (the tribe in my region) speak their native tongue. Already a lot of languages have been lost, and little or nothing is documented on these languages.
2) We also discussed Tanzanian men. It’s hard to get over the possibility that most Tanzanian men are interested in us only because they believe we have money (which we probably do compared to them) and we’re a way for them to get into America. Just being lighter skinned makes any white woman here automatically attractive. Poverty brings people down to a pretty low level, the survival level. Therefore it’s difficult to know if we can completely trust a village man or woman here because they most likely want something out of a volunteer; especially money for clothing, school fees, medicine, etc.
3) Another big challenge living in a foreign country is failing to be completely understood by the natives, specifically my personality and who I really am. Because of the language barrier, and Tanzanians’ different outlook on life, many volunteers don’t feel like Tanzanians will ever be able to see who we are on the inside. It’s interesting because the volunteers who struggled to fit in with America’s culture, actually do really well in Tanzania. That’s because quite a few people aren’t used to feeling so accepted nor do they ever receive the amount of attention they do living here in TZ. Any foreigners, especially white people, automatically get attention because of their different appearance and the association of white skin and money. There are two things that you have to do to make Tanzanians like you. 1) Speak Swahili and local tribal language. It doesn’t really matter much about your personality. If you speak their language, and enjoy being loud and open with your thoughts and feelings, then they’ll love you. 2) Wear Tanzanian clothes and practice what the villagers do…farming, laundry by hand, cooking, etc. It baffles them that Americans can actually do manual work. Anyway, neither of those things hit the core of who I am. It’s a pretty shallow view of what Tanzanians see in me. I suppose if I stayed long enough I might be better able to express myself, but my color will always be the first thing they see and use to label me. For sure it’s definitely a good experience to feel what it’s like to be a minority. I also realize how nice it is to know I have a place where I belong, America.
Peace Corps Tanzania
June 13, 2009
Today was hopefully the hardest part of Peace Corps – saying goodbye. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy to part from my family and the world I knew. I couldn’t even say the word ‘goodbye’ to Teddy (family dog) without getting all choked up. I was running on very little sleep since I spent the entire night packing, paying off credit card bills, and other last minute errands. Time went so fast from when I found out I was accepted into Peace Corps (end of April) to boarding the plane June 13th. I had very little time to really think about what I was getting into. I just busied myself with putting music and photos together and ordering shoes, bags, and solar items online. It was probably a good thing I didn’t have the time to psych myself out about living in a third world country for two years with rough living conditions and a completely unfamiliar culture and language. I had been putting off the thought of saying goodbye to loved ones because I knew it would be painful. So reality hit hard when I stood at the security entrance of the Omaha airport seeing my family lined up and knowing they couldn’t go with me any further. A lot of tears, hugs, and last minute goodbyes and I was off. I’m sure I had people in the airport and on the plane wondering what sort of tragedy happened to me because I looked like an emotional mess; bright red, swollen eyes and lots of loud sniffling. On top of these emotions, I was also nervous about flying by myself for the first time. I felt some relief when I found my second flight in Chicago airport with no problem. I then landed in Philadelphia and hopped onto a shuttle to take me to the Holiday Inn for my two day orientation with 36 of my cohorts. On the way to the hotel one man in the front seat of the hotel van became extremely interested in my role as a Peace Corps volunteer and asked what sort of projects I had in mind. He suggested looking into solar energy such as solar ovens and then he slipped me his card as he got off at his hotel. I was amazed I was already getting offers from Americans to help me with my projects even before I left the country, and this man happened to be the vice-president of Greyhound’s Safety and Security.
It was late by the time I reached the hotel and I just collapsed on my bed. After calling mom to reassure her I made it to Philadelphia alive, I took a long hot shower knowing it could be my very last real luxurious shower I’d have in two years. Just as I was about to go to bed, my roommate walked in after coming back from eating with a group of volunteers who arrived a day early as well. She introduced herself as Allison and right away I felt relief knowing I finally met another person who had the same kind of questions and uncertainty about the journey ahead of us. After we finished talking, I went to bed wondering what tomorrow would bring as my first day as a Peace Corp trainee.
June 14, 2009
The two day training in Philadelphia was mainly to clear up our fears and concerns, review Peace Corps goals, and get to know our Peace Corps family of two years. The first thing we did as Peace Corps trainees was hand in all the paperwork we had been holding onto for months and even years for some. I was one of the lucky volunteers because I sent in my essays, recommendations, references, country preferences, and overall application in October 2008 and was nominated right away. However, I didn’t find out until April 2009, just a few weeks before graduating from UNK, that I had been accepted as a Peace Corps Trainee in Tanzania, Africa. The time in between Oct 08 - April 09 was filled with medical, dental, and legal appointments. Fortunately my health and legal background was clean, so paperwork went through a lot faster. On average, it takes one year to finish the application process. While waiting in line in front of our conference room, I eagerly began introducing myself and learning new names and memorizing faces. I was glad to meet a bunch of young, enthusiastic people with similar feelings of anxiety, concern, adventure, and excitement. Everyone seemed to be flexible, laid back, and had a good sense of humor. There were 36 of us volunteers all together. Our group consisted of two extensions: Health and Environment. I was in the environment extension mainly because of my experience working on the farm. Most of the people in my group were single and in their 20’s-30’s, with the exception of an older Colorado couple and a young Wisconsin couple, and a few mid 30-40s volunteers and one older man in his 60s. Later on, after almost a month of language training, I found out that the young married guy was actually a distant cousin on my dad’s side. About a month later, I got news from my Grandma that I had yet another family member in Tanzania, Sister Andrea, a nun who has lived in Tanzania for 50 years! Talk about a small world! Knowing I had real family in such an unfamiliar and foreign country was very comforting and I felt like it was a sign from above that I was in the right place.
June 15, 2009
After the two orientation days in Philadelphia, it was time to board the bus and make our way to the JFK airport in New York City. Before I left Philadelphia, I made a quick trip to visit the Liberty Bell. Unfortunately I didn’t have the appetite to taste my first real Philly cheese steak sandwich, although I did take advantage of savoring my last cup of Starbucks coffee before I left.
Time seemed to really blur during our several day journey to Tanzania. On the bus to NYC, it was eerily quiet. I remember studying the faces of the other PCTs (Peace Corps Trainees) around me wondering whether they were thinking forward to what lay ahead or if they were replaying their goodbyes and memories from home. I could almost imagine what soldiers must feel when they go off to fight/work in a foreign country. The sense of leaving so much at home and not knowing what lies ahead is an incredibly scary yet somewhat exciting leap of facing the complete unknown. At least I knew I would never have to pick up a gun and kill anyone. All I was nervous about was the adjustment to the culture, language, and living on my own for two years. Just the drive to New York was new and fascinating to me. I had never been to the northeast, so being able to zip through several states in a short time span baffled me. I couldn’t get over the fast pace of New York and the size of the towering skyscrapers. I began to understand why so many of my fellow PCTs were surprised that a small town Nebraska girl somehow made her way into Peace Corps. I was already experiencing culture shock before I left the states, thanks to New York!
The wait at the JFK airport was uncomfortable for many of us. Several of us worried about whether we packed over the luggage weight limit and we gravely waited to hear we had to rid our bags of several heavy items or pay an additional fee. One of the girls, Megan, was told her ticket had been refunded and there wasn’t a seat left on the plane for her. After an hour, Megan’s ticket crisis was solved, our luggage all went through, and we anxiously waited to board the plane. This was the last time we could call our loved ones at home and say goodbye. A few volunteers had brought their American cell phones with them for this purpose. The volunteers who had boyfriends or girlfriends at home seemed to take the final phone goodbye the hardest. I was relieved I didn’t have to deal with that extra stress. A group of volunteers immediately found a bar in order to cheer up one of the women in my group who took parting from America pretty hard.
After boarding the plane, we soon realized we were missing another volunteer. Announcements in the plane and airport were made, but there was no sign of the volunteer. Apparently he got cold feet and decided the last minute not to join the Peace Corps. The plane was delayed two hours because this volunteer’s luggage had to be taken off and then we had to wait in a long line of departing planes to take off.
The KML British Airline flights were LONG but not too uncomfortable. It took 6.5 hours to get to Amsterdam and then 11hrs to arrive in Dar es Saalam, Tanzania. I had enjoyable conversations with a Swedish grad student and a California missionary on their way to TZ. I also watched several movies (each passenger had their own TV screen and large movie selection) knowing it would be awhile until I’d have the chance to watch movies again.
June 16, 2009
I have no idea what time we actually arrived in Dar es Salaam (capital of Tanzania), but I knew it was late judging by the darkness outside (around midnight). My stomach jumped when I realized I was in AFRICA and this country called Tanzania would be my home for two years. I had no idea what was said over the plane’s loud speakers, but knew I had just heard the foreign language, Swahili, which I was expected to know in just a few months. It was too much to comprehend and I was already so exhausted from the sleepless night of packing, the painful goodbye and already beginning feelings of homesickness, and of course, the long flight. The first thing I noticed when stepping off the plane was how unusually warm and humid the night air was. The humidity was so thick, it stuck to our bodies. We were warmly greeted by Peace Corps staff as soon as we made it into the airport. More paperwork was passed around, something or other needed signatures and we did what we were told. Then the long luggage wait was next. Each volunteer breathed a sigh of relief after claiming all of their bags. We then loaded a bus that took us to Msimbazi Center, a Dar hostel run by nuns. Apples, water, and pop were handed out and we shook the hands of Tanzanian Peace Corps staff and fumbled with repeating unfamiliar Muslim and Tanzanian names. After a brief introduction and welcome we all were given room keys and drug our luggage up the stairs. It totally made sense now why PC had warned us not to bring more than we could carry. I then crawled under my first mosquito net and drifted off into a deep sleep.
June 17, 2009
It wasn’t too difficult for me to wake up. I woke up very uncomfortable with the incredibly thick, hot humidity. I also was completely off with my sleeping schedule. Tanzania is 8 hours ahead of time in Nebraska, and it was just mind boggling to me that I was starting a completely new day while my family back home was just finishing up yesterday. I woke up first at 4:30 am due to the Muslim call to prayer. It was so foreign to me. The language and style of singing was so new to me. I don’t really remember much about the one week training in Dar. All I can remember is how thankful I was to get a preview of what the few months as a PCT held. We did do brief language training (mainly greetings), went over safety/security, and did some cultural training. We also got advice from PCVs one year before us (Peace Corps sends a new group of health/environment and education volunteers to TZ every year) about their experiences with their host families. Before we left America we were informed we would spend 3 months of training living with a Tanzanian host family and train with a group of 4-5 other PCVs living in the same village studying Swahili and Tanzanian culture every day. This style of language learning is called Community Based Training (CBT). Every Friday, all the CBTs would get together at an agriculture education center (MATI) close to our host families’ villages to go over medical, technical, and safety and security issues. I remember feeling both excited yet extremely nervous when my named was called out and I was given the name of my Baba (father) and Mama. I had no idea what to expect but I was excited to live with a Tanzanian family and experience a completely different life and culture.
June …., 2009 (by this time I had already lost track of what day it was)
Leaving Dar was the first time I actually saw Dar. When we first arrived by plane, it was too dark to see anything. Then we stayed behind the safe walls of the Msimbazi Center, a hostel run by nuns, for our first week of training. I couldn’t seem to take my eyes away from what lay outside the bus windows. The men were pulling huge baskets full of fruit on their bikes and boys scurried around stopped traffic selling newspapers, boiled eggs, water, and fruit. I saw women in cloth wraps for the first time, many with their heads covered. Yet I couldn’t get over how many Tanzanians were dressed in western style clothes. A lot of kids were wearing t-shirts with English words, a lot of times with some grammatical error…hence, why the t-shirt ended up in TZ. I noticed a distinct diversion of wealth and poverty. Men and women in business suits walked right next to people wearing only dirty rags. I also saw the odd mix of western, modern culture with traditional culture. I found it so strange to see the nomadic herders, Maasai, walk among stalled traffic and towering business buildings. The Maasai are easy to distinguish because they wear red/purple checkered sheets and tire shoes and they decorate themselves with thick strands of small beads. Most Maasai are in Dar to sell beaded jewelry to tourists. I saw advertisements in an unfamiliar language and brands and items I had never seen before. I was really surprised when I noticed how large the women were in the advertisements/billboards. I’ve been in America so long that I just assumed people all over the world thought being thin was most attractive. However, in TZ, if you’re big you’re attractive (not obese) because you obviously have wealth to eat well and you’re not sickly. I also couldn’t get over the poor living conditions. All the houses seemed so small and dirty. The amount of trash scattered around was sickening. The strong smells and pollution was too much. Cities always have intimidated me just because of the fast pace, mass amount of people, and traffic. I was so glad to get out of Dar.
The sights changed quite a bit once we got out into the country. Most villages we drove past consisted of mud huts. Bright colors of fruit and vegetable produce could be seen lined up on rickety wooden stands. The landscape was beautiful; bright green trees and tall grass, with a few big hills in the distance. I experienced my first “dig for medicine” which is how Tanzanians say bathroom break. Bathroom breaks consist of the bus pulling over to the side of the road to let the passengers find a place to relieve themselves. Often a side for men and one for women is designated and people hurriedly get their business done before the bus leaves them. It took awhile for me to get used to the lack of privacy with this sort of bathroom break. There are no convenience shops that the buses stop at for bathroom breaks or to grab snacks. Most gas stations just sell fuel, and villagers sell food to bus passengers whenever the bus slows down briefly or stops. The most common food items sold are roasted/boiled corn, fried doughnuts (maandazi), hushpuppies (bagia), fried pastry with meat or potatoes, large french fries (chipsi), fried cassava, cashews, peanuts, bananas, and a whole assortment of fruit depending on the season. At first I was really intimidated by all the people outside my bus window shouting and pushing food and other goods up to my window (clothes, jewelry, woven baskets, etc). However, now that I understand how to order and barter down the price, it’s a nice convenience that I might actually miss in America. Although, I don’t think I’ll miss the extra attention I get for being white nor the times when I get cheated by paying a much higher price because my white skin color automatically registers to Tanzanian vendors that I have money.
Finally we reached our destination, Muheza, Tanga. Lush, green, and beautiful tall mountains in the background, Muheza was breathtaking.
June …., 2009
The first day with my host family was quite interesting to say the least. I traveled with the four other PCVs in my Kibanda village CBT (community based training group), and another CBT group in a village nearby. I was so anxious, scared and excited. I didn’t know if my host family stay would be absolutely awesome or if it would be terrifying and the longest 9 weeks of my life. It was so funny watching each individual volunteer getting dropped off in front of a worn down house with a huge crowd of children, adults, and elders waiting to see what this strange white vehicle was bringing into their village. The rest of us volunteers in the van chuckled nervously at how ridiculously frightened and helpless each volunteer looked standing out as the only white person and looking completely out of place. The host families were selected by Peace Corps, and they had to go through a few trainings so they understood about food and water sanitation, healthy balance of meals, and a little background about American culture and what to expect from us volunteers. Peace Corps also did a house check with each of our families to make sure we had our own bedroom, and a decent choo (toilet).
The Peace Corps van then drove into my village, Kibanda, and stopped in front of a house with a beat up car stripped of its tires and a large black man in a white beater sitting down with his arms crossed. I crossed my fingers hoping it was the home of one of the other 4 volunteers in my group. Then I heard my name, and I found myself outside the van, surrounded by my overstuffed luggage bags, and big black men and children carrying my stuff inside. I was warned that the first night at homestay would most likely be the most awkward moment of my life. I didn’t know any Swahili besides ‘thank you’ and ‘I’m full’, and they did not speak any English. My host mama showed me my room and we set all my things in there. Then I sat in the living room with mama and dada (sister) Mwanaima, just looking at each other and the ground. After awhile mama went out to start supper, and I went outside to sit on the cement porch ledge. In just seconds I had a swarm of children around me. I was in the middle of at least 6 kids deep. I decided to get my pictures out to have something for them to stare at besides me. For each picture the kids pointed and told me what each thing was in Swahili. I tried to repeat the words back which greatly amused the kids and usually initiated a giggle fit. Afterwards I busted out a map, laid it out on the broken down car, and pointed to America and then Nebraska, and then traced the journey with my finger to show how I got to Tanzania. I knew no Swahili to explain anything. Instead I just used actions, facial expressions, nods, and repeated what kids told me when I pointed to something. I also played Frisbee with the kids until Baba said it was time to eat. As a welcome gesture, Baba butchered a chicken. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to watch the chicken being killed or not. We sat on a mat set on the ground, me, mama, and baba. I was relieved when they gave me a spoon and they didn’t force me to eat more than I wanted. I had heard from previous volunteers that their host families loaded more food on their plate then they could handle. My baba actually told me it was “self service” (a word I’m sure he asked one of his brothers who work in the city, therefore they know some English) so I could dish what I wanted on my plate. The meal was delicious and I instantly fell in love with mama’s coconut rice. The kids ate outside on a mat, which they did every night. That evening I had my first bucket bath in the outdoor choo (toliet). I couldn’t see if the water I was using was very clean or not because I only had a kerosene lantern. However, I was grateful mama heated up the water, which she did every time. The biggest struggle I had that first night was getting over the abundant cockroaches that crawled out from the choo hole. I used to smash all the cockroaches before I would begin to take my bath. Ha, my family must have thought I was crazy because I’m sure I made loud grunting sounds during my cockroach killing sprees. It also probably looked pretty silly with all the cockroaches mashed into the choo walls. Finally it was time to go to bed. I went into my bedroom, so happy I had all the curious eyes off me.
The next morning I woke up around 5:30 am thanks to an extremely obnoxious rooster near my window. I felt good about myself that I made it through possibly one of the hardest days, the first day of homestay. I then moved my pillow over out from underneath my head and there it was…a large, black cockroach crawling right next to my face. I made sure after that to always tuck my mosquito net tight around my mattress.
July 4, 2009
All PCTs and language teachers met up at MATI (agriculture training center) to celebrate our America Independence Day. Games of frisbee, volleyball, soccer and just laying out in the sun were a big treat. The boys had a khanga (cloth wrap worn around women’s waist) race which was very funny watching how awkward the guys tied on the khangas; probably how most of us female PCT looked like when we first learned how to wear a khanga. It was a big treat for us to have soda, cookies, watermelon and candy. Already we were sick of our daily diet of rice and beans and ugali (a thick, tasteless corn porridge). At the end of the day we got together for a group picture and sang the national anthem with the American flag flying behind us. It’s funny how a person takes more pride in their home country when they’re away from it. Many of the volunteers seemed to look at their home country with a different perspective today.
When I got back to my host family’s house, I had to apologize to Baba for being later than usual. He was worried something happened and he’s very protective of me. After we ate dinner that night I shared some pop rocks I got from the Fourth of July celebration. It was a lot of fun watching my host parents and sibling’s surprised reaction because of the popping sound and funny feeling on their tongues from the pop rocks. I also used my windup flashlight for the first time around them. They were very impressed that I didn’t need a battery and Baba really studied it for awhile.
July 7, 2009
It’s about 30 minutes before another day of school and I’m trying to prepare myself for another challenging day of Kiswahili. I have a great language training group. There are three of us girls, two guys, and our Swahili instructor. We get excellent one-on-one attention and it’s nice to have a small group to learn together. We also have the best view of the mountains and lush greenery outside of our classroom. Our school cooks, Sophia and Amina, are also great! They carry the food on their heads to feed us every day (except for Sunday, that’s the only free day) for chai at 10 am and lunch at 1 pm. Their food is delicious and they’ve slowly introduced us to all the different types of fruits, vegetables, and meat dishes.
Lately I’ve been hauling water on top of my head. It’s about a 20-30 minute round trip to the water pump and back to my host family’s house. It was quite an amusing sight for the villagers today when the five of us PCTs fetched water for our school choo. We laughed at ourselves at how ridiculously awkward we looked toting water on our heads and spilling on ourselves all the way. Oh well, it was a fun learning experience. We also watched the butchering of a chicken at school today, and we cooked tortillas over firewood. We’re not used to the sting of firewood smoke on our eyes, so we had to take turns cooking the food. It took all day to cook one meal, but it was rewarding at the end to eat the first meal we cooked by ourselves, Tanzanian style. Lack of sanitation is something I’ll have to get used to here. I cringed the first time I saw how the dishes were washed. There’s no special bacteria killing soap, just soap that gets sudsy. This same soap is also used for washing clothes and bathing. Cold water is used to wash dishes and often time the water isn’t too clean itself. Seeing that the knife used to cut the chicken was washed in this fashion was not too comforting. My body’s immune system will definitely have some adjusting to do.
During our Swahili lessons, kids from the village press their faces next to the school windows or door to observe us strange-looking foreigners. We are actually the first white people to live in Kibanda, and the first volunteers for our host families. The kids often roll oranges into our classroom while Mwalimu (teacher) Kondo is teaching. The kids greet us every day which helps us become faster with our greeting responses. We also sing Swahili and English songs with the kids whenever they stopped by to watch us.
I’ve made several funny Kiswahili errors this week. I told people at the Kibanda bus stop that I had to go back to school because I left my onions. I meant to say books. I also was reading out loud in the health section of my Swahili book and Baba was around helping me pronounce things correctly. There was one phrase I thought I just couldn’t get right because he kept giving me a confused look. I then looked at the English translation of what I was saying and realized I had repeatedly asked my Baba for a condom.
July 8, 2009
Tonight Baba mentioned he wanted to come to America to work for my dad. That explains why he had been asking me about the prices of an airplane ticket and car in America. I think he’s actually serious. He said he would just go to America and leave his family here. This was a bit unsettling to me. Life is so hard here that he’d be willing to be a continent away from his family, to work and earn money, and send it back to his family.
July 11, 2009
Here are some observations I jotted down in case I forget to mention them later on. I’m already becoming so accustomed to life here that I forget how new and unusual things first seemed to me.
• People here eat with their right hand. Left hand is for choo use only. It’s extremely offensive if you shake someone’s hand with your left or give a gift with your left hand. It’s custom to pour water over just the right hand before eating. Spoons are sometimes used in the village but most people in bigger cities use spoons.
• I’ve landed in a tropical fruit heaven. Almost every day kids bring us PCTs oranges. Most of the farmers in Muheza region (Kibanda village is in Muheza region) rely on oranges for profit. The oranges are actually green on the outside but orange and juicy in the inside. People eat oranges by cutting the rind but leaving enough skin so you can eat the orange like a small bowl. This way the orange seems much more juicy and sweeter without eating so much of the skin fibers. There are also papaya, bananas, passion fruit, sour sop, jack fruit, coconuts, pears, pineapple, mango, etc. I’ve never seen these fruit trees before, so it’s brand new for me to be surrounded by fruit trees and to be able to go outside and pick off fruit fresh from any tree. As Americans, we often have no clue where our grocery produce comes from or how it’s grown. Here in TZ, any small child can tell you how corn grows or which fruit grows on what tree.
• Today I got to observe Kaka (brother) Omari climb up a huge coconut tree near the house and hack down about ten coconuts. It was incredible how easily he could move up the length of the tree while carrying a machete in his hand.
• Here are a few of the emotions I’ve been going through recently. So far I’ve been so extremely occupied with learning Swahili that I haven’t had much time to think. I’ve had moments of homesickness and wonder if I’ll ever make it here for 2 years. Going home seems so easy right now and I catch myself thinking of the different illnesses or disasters that would make this possible. Yet I try not to think of going home as an option because I know deep down this is where I belong for now. Besides, I’d never forgive myself if I gave up so easily. How else will I grow and learn if I’m not challenged? I’ve also been stressing myself out trying to learn at the same pace as my CBT peers. I need to remember what my country director, Andrea, said about all us trainees being different kinds of fruits and we will all learn Swahili at our own pace. Therefore, it is pointless to compare myself with others.
• Woman here are not afraid to expose their breasts when breastfeeding their child. Breasts are not as sexualized as they are in the states. It will take some getting used to seeing women exposed like this, but I appreciate they see breasts for the purpose of nourishing their children.
• I’ve noticed I’ve gradually adapted to sharing the choo with large insects. Now it’s just a matter of counting them to see how many will be sharing choo time with me. I dread the day when I meet my first large spider or snake. There have been rats in the house but they seem to stay on the rafters. Baba (host father) called them ‘rabbits’ in English.
• I’ve been eating fish (head, tail and all) almost every day. I never thought I’d be able to eat scales and dried fish. Now it’s just a part of a normal meal.
• I often have to use the choo during the middle of the night. Baba calls it my “emergency choo”. This is the only time I miss having a western toilet inside. However, the night sky is always so beautiful and the weather is perfect at night (it’s their cold season right now). I swear the moon and stars are much bigger and brighter than in America. Might be difference of pollution, but also because I’m right on the equator. I’ll have to do some research…
• There are no pedestrian rights here. The main highway goes through my host family’s village, Kibanda. I constantly hear honking of vehicles warning people to clear the way because the driver doesn’t waste time slowing down. David (in my CBT) thinks the bus horns sound like a noise off of Play Station Warrior Princess. The noise of the horn is high pitched and animated like a video game. About a week ago a girl was hit on the road right by the school. She lived through it but her arm was broken. I’m amazed more accidents don’t happen because the vehicles here don’t slow down at all!
• Houses are mainly made out of the dark orange soil here with a grass roof. I live in one of the few houses with actual brick and concrete for walls and floor, and metal sheet roofing. There’s almost a college dormitory atmosphere in the village because of the frequency of neighbors visiting. Most villagers don’t have the distractions of TVs or electronics, so they socialize more with people around them. Tanzanians love to greet. At least 2-5 minutes of a conversation is just greetings. People here rarely answer a greeting negatively, like ‘how are you’ by saying things aren’t okay. Even if they’re lying on the bed sick, they’ll answer ‘I’m alright’ or ‘I’ve been better.”
• Food here is about the same every day: rice or ugali, beans, spinach, and sometimes meat (fish, goat, beef, chicken, and pork). Chai is a very important part of Tanzanian custom. People in Tanga like their chai spicy. Chai is a mix of cinnamon, cardamom, and black pepper. Most Tanzanians drink chai in the early morning, and later at 10 am along with chapatti (a greasy tortilla) and mandazi (a sugarless fried doughnut). Lunch is at 1 pm and usually consists of ugali, dagaa (dried sardines), and some sort of greens. White rice is mostly eaten by the wealthy, especially during the evening meal around 7-9 pm.
• The soda here is really sweet because of the unrefined sugar cane. Soda mostly comes in glass bottles and all bottles are sent back to the pop company to refill and redistribute…and hopefully the bottle is cleaned beforehand.
• My family, especially Baba, is extremely protective of me. I always have to apologize and explain whenever I come home a little later than expected. I don’t mind having such a protective family; at least I know they care about me. I feel so well cared for, actually spoiled. I always have a kaka (brother) or dada (sister) offering me a chair or helping me with small household tasks. I hardly do any work here besides wash my own laundry, and they even help me with that. Although, after a full day of Swahili lessons, I get home around 5pm and I feel completely exhausted.
• I actually don’t even think about how I’m living without electricity or running water. It will probably be more obvious when I’m on my own and have to do house chores all by myself.
• Babies here spend most of their immobile life strapped in a khanga behind their mother’s back. Babies seem to sleep through anything even when their mama is working in the field or cooking next to the fire. The babies have access to their mother’s breasts anytime. I rarely notice a baby crying because it’s always held by someone in the family. It’s amazing how strong the women are here. I often see women balancing a large bucket of water or stack of firewood on their heads with a baby strapped on back, and sometimes even a hoe or another bucket of water in their hands. I remember being so disgusted in class one day when I watched a woman pass by with a huge load of firewood on her head and she was carrying a baby. Her husband just walked next to her….carrying nothing!
• Every morning I wake up around 6:20 am because that’s when the roosters start their morning ritual outside my window. Ducks, goats, and chickens roam the town as if they own it. However, they all seem to remember where their home is, and they return each night….unless a thief or another animal manages to grab some of the livestock.
• The walking pace here is so much slower than what I’m used to in America’s fast paced culture. I think it’s because it’s impossible to walk fast in a khanga. However, people here seem to believe they own time. There’s always tomorrow if they don’t get something done today. There is a saying “Americans have watches, but Tanzanians have time”. Tanzanians believe people are more important than work, so time is always made for greetings and socializing. TIA = This Is Africa….what my Swahili teacher always says when explaining why things are the way they are here.
• I love that I’ll hear the most random American pop or country songs. I don’t even know where they get some of this stuff. People here don’t even know what the lyrics are but they sing to it anyway. It’s so good to hear familiar music. It’s almost creepy how much influence America has on the rest of the world and we don’t even realize it living in the states. I’ve met people from all over the world, and many of them seem to know more about the US than what some US citizens know about their own country. Michael Jackson, Obama, and Bob Marley are icons here. There are t-shirts, flashlights, shoes and bags with these guys’ faces on it.
• Apparently there is nothing wrong with picking your nose here. I see people do it all the time in public.
July 12, 2009
This morning I woke up to yelling outside my window. I looked out of the window near my bed to find myself staring at a pair of long black legs of a completely naked man standing on the top of the stalled car in front of my family’s home. Apparently the man had some mental issues and just happened to strip right in front of my window. Neighbors surrounded him and told him to move or they’d hit him with a stick or get the police. They also somewhat helped the man dress himself. At first I was extremely startled and a bit scared of what this man might do. However I then realized he was harmless and I was able to see the humor in this situation.
July 15, 2009
I had my site placement interview with my Environment APCD (Assistant Program Coordinator Director), Eliguard. He asked me questions about my skills, interests, and weather and location preferences. I hope I answered these questions clearly enough so he can match me well with my site for two years. I’ve been studying like crazy for the Swahili mid exam tomorrow. I’m not too worried about not passing, but I’d rather not be last in my group.
July 16, 2009
Today was pretty good. I’m done with the Swahili mid-term oral and written exam. I don’t think I did too shabby. PC staff provided snacks as a way of rewarding us for getting through half of training. I ate cheese, crackers, and oatmeal cookies which tasted so much better than I ever remember them being in America. It’s crazy how much you crave familiar foods, even foods you didn’t care so much about in the states.
It’s pretty awesome how much my host family cares about me. They must have known how stressed I was with taking the exam today. They told me they prayed for me to do well on the exam and were all anxious to know how I did. Baba has been pushing me to improve my Swahili. Every night, after eating supper, Baba asks me to describe in Swahili my American and Tanzanian families over and over until I get it right. The rest of my poor family has to sit and listen to me stutter over the same stories, explaining each of my family members’ names and ages. My whole family is incredibly patient with my language learning process, especially Baba. Before I left this morning, he made sure I knew that he hoped I’d do well on the exam.
July 17, 2009
As part of our one retreat during training, all of us trainees spent the weekend at Pangoni Beach at the Tented Lodge run by a former PCV and her husband. The resort is on the Indian Ocean, only a few hours from my host family’s place. I stayed in the couple’s original house and it was amazing: electricity, running water, and the most gorgeous view of the Indian Ocean next to land full of palm trees. It felt so good to have privacy again, to not have people constantly watch and study us. The food was amazing as well. Never has cheese, omelets, and sausage tasted so good. And freshly squeezed orange juice! On the way back to Kibanda, we stopped by Amboni Cave. Our guided tour was pretty ridiculous, but the cave was cool.
July 20, 2009
Ate a record amount of oranges today…7+ I think
I’m about half way through training and I’ve realized how much I adore my host family and vice versa. Baba asked if I’d be happy to leave and I told them I know I’ll be a bit heartbroken when I have to leave the comforts of their home. I’ve gotten so comfortable with my family, I almost prefer staying at home rather than going to class everyday with other PCTs. However, I am ready for more independence and to be done with training. It’s been wonderful having these people here care for me. I’m sure I provided a great source of entertainment for my family with all my new discoveries and blunders. I think Tanzanians are generally friendly and accepting of wazungu (white foreigners) especially Americans, thanks to our African American celebrities and our president.
Today the ladies at the water pump asked if I put oil in my hair. They kept touching my hair and couldn’t get over how thin and soft my hair was. I’ve also had kids touch my skin, like they don’t believe it’s real or they think my skin might feel different than theirs. I don’t mind their curiosity. I realize I’m the first white person many of the children and villagers have seen.
July 22, 2009
It’s funny how people think the weather here is cold. The coolest the temps get is maybe 70s. Yet people still bust out heavy winter coats and stocking caps.
July 26, 2009
Last night I saw my first large rodent in the choo. I would have run out screaming but I was in the middle of bathing.
It made me feel especially good last night when Baba said I’m really one of his children. He said this because I told him he didn’t need to pay for a lantern glass that I broke because he had enough to worry about supporting his kids. Baba just laughed at this and said I AM one of his kids.
It’s strange to think about Tara (my cousin) and Jake getting married yesterday. America seems so far away. It feels funny knowing the whole family was involved in something and I was the only one not there. Speaking of weddings, I constantly get asked if I’m married or have a boyfriend. I’ve learned that the best thing to do is lie whenever it’s a guy asking. However, sometimes that doesn’t work because men tell me ‘he doesn’t have to know’.
My choo flip flops are missing. First item stolen in Tanzania…
Today I went to Muheza with Mama, Kaka (brother) Athmid, and Dada (sister) Mwanaima. We walked all the way there, about 3km and little mama carried Kaka Athmid (he’s a large 1 year old) on her back for most of the way until I realized how tired she was and then I carried him. Mama bought me 3 gifts: lantern glass, flip flops, and a scrunchy. On the way home we took a daladala (a small van with no capacity limit). I sat next to five women stuffed in the back and a chicken. Mama crammed into the seat in front of me and still found room to breastfeed Kaka Athmid.
It’s interesting how children can just run around the village and the parents don’t have to worry about their kids’ safety. The whole village is responsible for the children’s safety, so everyone helps each other. Yesterday a couple came to the house to tell my Baba (he’s a village chairman) that their neighbor was not sending his 9 yr old boy to school. Baba then documented this and went to talk to the boy’s father.
Mama is the one who does the most housework in the family. She’s usually up around 6 am mopping, sweeping, and getting chai ready. The kids help her get things done as well. I feel kind of bad because she always prepares chai and eggs early in the morning just for me because I leave for Swahili lessons. Women don’t get the recognition they deserve with all that they do for their family. The men are the ones that do “real work” because they bring the money in. Yet that’s not always true because sometimes women bring in the income.
I’ve started to realize why it’s so difficult for villagers to be open to changes and new alternatives to better their livelihoods. Most people here are stuck in survival mode, so all they can think about is today and maybe tomorrow. Many families have to worry about the most basic essential in life, such as water. There is just no extra money to be spent to experiment with new farming techniques or invest in a business. Very few farmers harvest enough to sell; most crops are used for family consumption.
June 13, 2009
Today was hopefully the hardest part of Peace Corps – saying goodbye. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy to part from my family and the world I knew. I couldn’t even say the word ‘goodbye’ to Teddy (family dog) without getting all choked up. I was running on very little sleep since I spent the entire night packing, paying off credit card bills, and other last minute errands. Time went so fast from when I found out I was accepted into Peace Corps (end of April) to boarding the plane June 13th. I had very little time to really think about what I was getting into. I just busied myself with putting music and photos together and ordering shoes, bags, and solar items online. It was probably a good thing I didn’t have the time to psych myself out about living in a third world country for two years with rough living conditions and a completely unfamiliar culture and language. I had been putting off the thought of saying goodbye to loved ones because I knew it would be painful. So reality hit hard when I stood at the security entrance of the Omaha airport seeing my family lined up and knowing they couldn’t go with me any further. A lot of tears, hugs, and last minute goodbyes and I was off. I’m sure I had people in the airport and on the plane wondering what sort of tragedy happened to me because I looked like an emotional mess; bright red, swollen eyes and lots of loud sniffling. On top of these emotions, I was also nervous about flying by myself for the first time. I felt some relief when I found my second flight in Chicago airport with no problem. I then landed in Philadelphia and hopped onto a shuttle to take me to the Holiday Inn for my two day orientation with 36 of my cohorts. On the way to the hotel one man in the front seat of the hotel van became extremely interested in my role as a Peace Corps volunteer and asked what sort of projects I had in mind. He suggested looking into solar energy such as solar ovens and then he slipped me his card as he got off at his hotel. I was amazed I was already getting offers from Americans to help me with my projects even before I left the country, and this man happened to be the vice-president of Greyhound’s Safety and Security.
It was late by the time I reached the hotel and I just collapsed on my bed. After calling mom to reassure her I made it to Philadelphia alive, I took a long hot shower knowing it could be my very last real luxurious shower I’d have in two years. Just as I was about to go to bed, my roommate walked in after coming back from eating with a group of volunteers who arrived a day early as well. She introduced herself as Allison and right away I felt relief knowing I finally met another person who had the same kind of questions and uncertainty about the journey ahead of us. After we finished talking, I went to bed wondering what tomorrow would bring as my first day as a Peace Corp trainee.
June 14, 2009
The two day training in Philadelphia was mainly to clear up our fears and concerns, review Peace Corps goals, and get to know our Peace Corps family of two years. The first thing we did as Peace Corps trainees was hand in all the paperwork we had been holding onto for months and even years for some. I was one of the lucky volunteers because I sent in my essays, recommendations, references, country preferences, and overall application in October 2008 and was nominated right away. However, I didn’t find out until April 2009, just a few weeks before graduating from UNK, that I had been accepted as a Peace Corps Trainee in Tanzania, Africa. The time in between Oct 08 - April 09 was filled with medical, dental, and legal appointments. Fortunately my health and legal background was clean, so paperwork went through a lot faster. On average, it takes one year to finish the application process. While waiting in line in front of our conference room, I eagerly began introducing myself and learning new names and memorizing faces. I was glad to meet a bunch of young, enthusiastic people with similar feelings of anxiety, concern, adventure, and excitement. Everyone seemed to be flexible, laid back, and had a good sense of humor. There were 36 of us volunteers all together. Our group consisted of two extensions: Health and Environment. I was in the environment extension mainly because of my experience working on the farm. Most of the people in my group were single and in their 20’s-30’s, with the exception of an older Colorado couple and a young Wisconsin couple, and a few mid 30-40s volunteers and one older man in his 60s. Later on, after almost a month of language training, I found out that the young married guy was actually a distant cousin on my dad’s side. About a month later, I got news from my Grandma that I had yet another family member in Tanzania, Sister Andrea, a nun who has lived in Tanzania for 50 years! Talk about a small world! Knowing I had real family in such an unfamiliar and foreign country was very comforting and I felt like it was a sign from above that I was in the right place.
June 15, 2009
After the two orientation days in Philadelphia, it was time to board the bus and make our way to the JFK airport in New York City. Before I left Philadelphia, I made a quick trip to visit the Liberty Bell. Unfortunately I didn’t have the appetite to taste my first real Philly cheese steak sandwich, although I did take advantage of savoring my last cup of Starbucks coffee before I left.
Time seemed to really blur during our several day journey to Tanzania. On the bus to NYC, it was eerily quiet. I remember studying the faces of the other PCTs (Peace Corps Trainees) around me wondering whether they were thinking forward to what lay ahead or if they were replaying their goodbyes and memories from home. I could almost imagine what soldiers must feel when they go off to fight/work in a foreign country. The sense of leaving so much at home and not knowing what lies ahead is an incredibly scary yet somewhat exciting leap of facing the complete unknown. At least I knew I would never have to pick up a gun and kill anyone. All I was nervous about was the adjustment to the culture, language, and living on my own for two years. Just the drive to New York was new and fascinating to me. I had never been to the northeast, so being able to zip through several states in a short time span baffled me. I couldn’t get over the fast pace of New York and the size of the towering skyscrapers. I began to understand why so many of my fellow PCTs were surprised that a small town Nebraska girl somehow made her way into Peace Corps. I was already experiencing culture shock before I left the states, thanks to New York!
The wait at the JFK airport was uncomfortable for many of us. Several of us worried about whether we packed over the luggage weight limit and we gravely waited to hear we had to rid our bags of several heavy items or pay an additional fee. One of the girls, Megan, was told her ticket had been refunded and there wasn’t a seat left on the plane for her. After an hour, Megan’s ticket crisis was solved, our luggage all went through, and we anxiously waited to board the plane. This was the last time we could call our loved ones at home and say goodbye. A few volunteers had brought their American cell phones with them for this purpose. The volunteers who had boyfriends or girlfriends at home seemed to take the final phone goodbye the hardest. I was relieved I didn’t have to deal with that extra stress. A group of volunteers immediately found a bar in order to cheer up one of the women in my group who took parting from America pretty hard.
After boarding the plane, we soon realized we were missing another volunteer. Announcements in the plane and airport were made, but there was no sign of the volunteer. Apparently he got cold feet and decided the last minute not to join the Peace Corps. The plane was delayed two hours because this volunteer’s luggage had to be taken off and then we had to wait in a long line of departing planes to take off.
The KML British Airline flights were LONG but not too uncomfortable. It took 6.5 hours to get to Amsterdam and then 11hrs to arrive in Dar es Saalam, Tanzania. I had enjoyable conversations with a Swedish grad student and a California missionary on their way to TZ. I also watched several movies (each passenger had their own TV screen and large movie selection) knowing it would be awhile until I’d have the chance to watch movies again.
June 16, 2009
I have no idea what time we actually arrived in Dar es Salaam (capital of Tanzania), but I knew it was late judging by the darkness outside (around midnight). My stomach jumped when I realized I was in AFRICA and this country called Tanzania would be my home for two years. I had no idea what was said over the plane’s loud speakers, but knew I had just heard the foreign language, Swahili, which I was expected to know in just a few months. It was too much to comprehend and I was already so exhausted from the sleepless night of packing, the painful goodbye and already beginning feelings of homesickness, and of course, the long flight. The first thing I noticed when stepping off the plane was how unusually warm and humid the night air was. The humidity was so thick, it stuck to our bodies. We were warmly greeted by Peace Corps staff as soon as we made it into the airport. More paperwork was passed around, something or other needed signatures and we did what we were told. Then the long luggage wait was next. Each volunteer breathed a sigh of relief after claiming all of their bags. We then loaded a bus that took us to Msimbazi Center, a Dar hostel run by nuns. Apples, water, and pop were handed out and we shook the hands of Tanzanian Peace Corps staff and fumbled with repeating unfamiliar Muslim and Tanzanian names. After a brief introduction and welcome we all were given room keys and drug our luggage up the stairs. It totally made sense now why PC had warned us not to bring more than we could carry. I then crawled under my first mosquito net and drifted off into a deep sleep.
June 17, 2009
It wasn’t too difficult for me to wake up. I woke up very uncomfortable with the incredibly thick, hot humidity. I also was completely off with my sleeping schedule. Tanzania is 8 hours ahead of time in Nebraska, and it was just mind boggling to me that I was starting a completely new day while my family back home was just finishing up yesterday. I woke up first at 4:30 am due to the Muslim call to prayer. It was so foreign to me. The language and style of singing was so new to me. I don’t really remember much about the one week training in Dar. All I can remember is how thankful I was to get a preview of what the few months as a PCT held. We did do brief language training (mainly greetings), went over safety/security, and did some cultural training. We also got advice from PCVs one year before us (Peace Corps sends a new group of health/environment and education volunteers to TZ every year) about their experiences with their host families. Before we left America we were informed we would spend 3 months of training living with a Tanzanian host family and train with a group of 4-5 other PCVs living in the same village studying Swahili and Tanzanian culture every day. This style of language learning is called Community Based Training (CBT). Every Friday, all the CBTs would get together at an agriculture education center (MATI) close to our host families’ villages to go over medical, technical, and safety and security issues. I remember feeling both excited yet extremely nervous when my named was called out and I was given the name of my Baba (father) and Mama. I had no idea what to expect but I was excited to live with a Tanzanian family and experience a completely different life and culture.
June …., 2009 (by this time I had already lost track of what day it was)
Leaving Dar was the first time I actually saw Dar. When we first arrived by plane, it was too dark to see anything. Then we stayed behind the safe walls of the Msimbazi Center, a hostel run by nuns, for our first week of training. I couldn’t seem to take my eyes away from what lay outside the bus windows. The men were pulling huge baskets full of fruit on their bikes and boys scurried around stopped traffic selling newspapers, boiled eggs, water, and fruit. I saw women in cloth wraps for the first time, many with their heads covered. Yet I couldn’t get over how many Tanzanians were dressed in western style clothes. A lot of kids were wearing t-shirts with English words, a lot of times with some grammatical error…hence, why the t-shirt ended up in TZ. I noticed a distinct diversion of wealth and poverty. Men and women in business suits walked right next to people wearing only dirty rags. I also saw the odd mix of western, modern culture with traditional culture. I found it so strange to see the nomadic herders, Maasai, walk among stalled traffic and towering business buildings. The Maasai are easy to distinguish because they wear red/purple checkered sheets and tire shoes and they decorate themselves with thick strands of small beads. Most Maasai are in Dar to sell beaded jewelry to tourists. I saw advertisements in an unfamiliar language and brands and items I had never seen before. I was really surprised when I noticed how large the women were in the advertisements/billboards. I’ve been in America so long that I just assumed people all over the world thought being thin was most attractive. However, in TZ, if you’re big you’re attractive (not obese) because you obviously have wealth to eat well and you’re not sickly. I also couldn’t get over the poor living conditions. All the houses seemed so small and dirty. The amount of trash scattered around was sickening. The strong smells and pollution was too much. Cities always have intimidated me just because of the fast pace, mass amount of people, and traffic. I was so glad to get out of Dar.
The sights changed quite a bit once we got out into the country. Most villages we drove past consisted of mud huts. Bright colors of fruit and vegetable produce could be seen lined up on rickety wooden stands. The landscape was beautiful; bright green trees and tall grass, with a few big hills in the distance. I experienced my first “dig for medicine” which is how Tanzanians say bathroom break. Bathroom breaks consist of the bus pulling over to the side of the road to let the passengers find a place to relieve themselves. Often a side for men and one for women is designated and people hurriedly get their business done before the bus leaves them. It took awhile for me to get used to the lack of privacy with this sort of bathroom break. There are no convenience shops that the buses stop at for bathroom breaks or to grab snacks. Most gas stations just sell fuel, and villagers sell food to bus passengers whenever the bus slows down briefly or stops. The most common food items sold are roasted/boiled corn, fried doughnuts (maandazi), hushpuppies (bagia), fried pastry with meat or potatoes, large french fries (chipsi), fried cassava, cashews, peanuts, bananas, and a whole assortment of fruit depending on the season. At first I was really intimidated by all the people outside my bus window shouting and pushing food and other goods up to my window (clothes, jewelry, woven baskets, etc). However, now that I understand how to order and barter down the price, it’s a nice convenience that I might actually miss in America. Although, I don’t think I’ll miss the extra attention I get for being white nor the times when I get cheated by paying a much higher price because my white skin color automatically registers to Tanzanian vendors that I have money.
Finally we reached our destination, Muheza, Tanga. Lush, green, and beautiful tall mountains in the background, Muheza was breathtaking.
June …., 2009
The first day with my host family was quite interesting to say the least. I traveled with the four other PCVs in my Kibanda village CBT (community based training group), and another CBT group in a village nearby. I was so anxious, scared and excited. I didn’t know if my host family stay would be absolutely awesome or if it would be terrifying and the longest 9 weeks of my life. It was so funny watching each individual volunteer getting dropped off in front of a worn down house with a huge crowd of children, adults, and elders waiting to see what this strange white vehicle was bringing into their village. The rest of us volunteers in the van chuckled nervously at how ridiculously frightened and helpless each volunteer looked standing out as the only white person and looking completely out of place. The host families were selected by Peace Corps, and they had to go through a few trainings so they understood about food and water sanitation, healthy balance of meals, and a little background about American culture and what to expect from us volunteers. Peace Corps also did a house check with each of our families to make sure we had our own bedroom, and a decent choo (toilet).
The Peace Corps van then drove into my village, Kibanda, and stopped in front of a house with a beat up car stripped of its tires and a large black man in a white beater sitting down with his arms crossed. I crossed my fingers hoping it was the home of one of the other 4 volunteers in my group. Then I heard my name, and I found myself outside the van, surrounded by my overstuffed luggage bags, and big black men and children carrying my stuff inside. I was warned that the first night at homestay would most likely be the most awkward moment of my life. I didn’t know any Swahili besides ‘thank you’ and ‘I’m full’, and they did not speak any English. My host mama showed me my room and we set all my things in there. Then I sat in the living room with mama and dada (sister) Mwanaima, just looking at each other and the ground. After awhile mama went out to start supper, and I went outside to sit on the cement porch ledge. In just seconds I had a swarm of children around me. I was in the middle of at least 6 kids deep. I decided to get my pictures out to have something for them to stare at besides me. For each picture the kids pointed and told me what each thing was in Swahili. I tried to repeat the words back which greatly amused the kids and usually initiated a giggle fit. Afterwards I busted out a map, laid it out on the broken down car, and pointed to America and then Nebraska, and then traced the journey with my finger to show how I got to Tanzania. I knew no Swahili to explain anything. Instead I just used actions, facial expressions, nods, and repeated what kids told me when I pointed to something. I also played Frisbee with the kids until Baba said it was time to eat. As a welcome gesture, Baba butchered a chicken. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to watch the chicken being killed or not. We sat on a mat set on the ground, me, mama, and baba. I was relieved when they gave me a spoon and they didn’t force me to eat more than I wanted. I had heard from previous volunteers that their host families loaded more food on their plate then they could handle. My baba actually told me it was “self service” (a word I’m sure he asked one of his brothers who work in the city, therefore they know some English) so I could dish what I wanted on my plate. The meal was delicious and I instantly fell in love with mama’s coconut rice. The kids ate outside on a mat, which they did every night. That evening I had my first bucket bath in the outdoor choo (toliet). I couldn’t see if the water I was using was very clean or not because I only had a kerosene lantern. However, I was grateful mama heated up the water, which she did every time. The biggest struggle I had that first night was getting over the abundant cockroaches that crawled out from the choo hole. I used to smash all the cockroaches before I would begin to take my bath. Ha, my family must have thought I was crazy because I’m sure I made loud grunting sounds during my cockroach killing sprees. It also probably looked pretty silly with all the cockroaches mashed into the choo walls. Finally it was time to go to bed. I went into my bedroom, so happy I had all the curious eyes off me.
The next morning I woke up around 5:30 am thanks to an extremely obnoxious rooster near my window. I felt good about myself that I made it through possibly one of the hardest days, the first day of homestay. I then moved my pillow over out from underneath my head and there it was…a large, black cockroach crawling right next to my face. I made sure after that to always tuck my mosquito net tight around my mattress.
July 4, 2009
All PCTs and language teachers met up at MATI (agriculture training center) to celebrate our America Independence Day. Games of frisbee, volleyball, soccer and just laying out in the sun were a big treat. The boys had a khanga (cloth wrap worn around women’s waist) race which was very funny watching how awkward the guys tied on the khangas; probably how most of us female PCT looked like when we first learned how to wear a khanga. It was a big treat for us to have soda, cookies, watermelon and candy. Already we were sick of our daily diet of rice and beans and ugali (a thick, tasteless corn porridge). At the end of the day we got together for a group picture and sang the national anthem with the American flag flying behind us. It’s funny how a person takes more pride in their home country when they’re away from it. Many of the volunteers seemed to look at their home country with a different perspective today.
When I got back to my host family’s house, I had to apologize to Baba for being later than usual. He was worried something happened and he’s very protective of me. After we ate dinner that night I shared some pop rocks I got from the Fourth of July celebration. It was a lot of fun watching my host parents and sibling’s surprised reaction because of the popping sound and funny feeling on their tongues from the pop rocks. I also used my windup flashlight for the first time around them. They were very impressed that I didn’t need a battery and Baba really studied it for awhile.
July 7, 2009
It’s about 30 minutes before another day of school and I’m trying to prepare myself for another challenging day of Kiswahili. I have a great language training group. There are three of us girls, two guys, and our Swahili instructor. We get excellent one-on-one attention and it’s nice to have a small group to learn together. We also have the best view of the mountains and lush greenery outside of our classroom. Our school cooks, Sophia and Amina, are also great! They carry the food on their heads to feed us every day (except for Sunday, that’s the only free day) for chai at 10 am and lunch at 1 pm. Their food is delicious and they’ve slowly introduced us to all the different types of fruits, vegetables, and meat dishes.
Lately I’ve been hauling water on top of my head. It’s about a 20-30 minute round trip to the water pump and back to my host family’s house. It was quite an amusing sight for the villagers today when the five of us PCTs fetched water for our school choo. We laughed at ourselves at how ridiculously awkward we looked toting water on our heads and spilling on ourselves all the way. Oh well, it was a fun learning experience. We also watched the butchering of a chicken at school today, and we cooked tortillas over firewood. We’re not used to the sting of firewood smoke on our eyes, so we had to take turns cooking the food. It took all day to cook one meal, but it was rewarding at the end to eat the first meal we cooked by ourselves, Tanzanian style. Lack of sanitation is something I’ll have to get used to here. I cringed the first time I saw how the dishes were washed. There’s no special bacteria killing soap, just soap that gets sudsy. This same soap is also used for washing clothes and bathing. Cold water is used to wash dishes and often time the water isn’t too clean itself. Seeing that the knife used to cut the chicken was washed in this fashion was not too comforting. My body’s immune system will definitely have some adjusting to do.
During our Swahili lessons, kids from the village press their faces next to the school windows or door to observe us strange-looking foreigners. We are actually the first white people to live in Kibanda, and the first volunteers for our host families. The kids often roll oranges into our classroom while Mwalimu (teacher) Kondo is teaching. The kids greet us every day which helps us become faster with our greeting responses. We also sing Swahili and English songs with the kids whenever they stopped by to watch us.
I’ve made several funny Kiswahili errors this week. I told people at the Kibanda bus stop that I had to go back to school because I left my onions. I meant to say books. I also was reading out loud in the health section of my Swahili book and Baba was around helping me pronounce things correctly. There was one phrase I thought I just couldn’t get right because he kept giving me a confused look. I then looked at the English translation of what I was saying and realized I had repeatedly asked my Baba for a condom.
July 8, 2009
Tonight Baba mentioned he wanted to come to America to work for my dad. That explains why he had been asking me about the prices of an airplane ticket and car in America. I think he’s actually serious. He said he would just go to America and leave his family here. This was a bit unsettling to me. Life is so hard here that he’d be willing to be a continent away from his family, to work and earn money, and send it back to his family.
July 11, 2009
Here are some observations I jotted down in case I forget to mention them later on. I’m already becoming so accustomed to life here that I forget how new and unusual things first seemed to me.
• People here eat with their right hand. Left hand is for choo use only. It’s extremely offensive if you shake someone’s hand with your left or give a gift with your left hand. It’s custom to pour water over just the right hand before eating. Spoons are sometimes used in the village but most people in bigger cities use spoons.
• I’ve landed in a tropical fruit heaven. Almost every day kids bring us PCTs oranges. Most of the farmers in Muheza region (Kibanda village is in Muheza region) rely on oranges for profit. The oranges are actually green on the outside but orange and juicy in the inside. People eat oranges by cutting the rind but leaving enough skin so you can eat the orange like a small bowl. This way the orange seems much more juicy and sweeter without eating so much of the skin fibers. There are also papaya, bananas, passion fruit, sour sop, jack fruit, coconuts, pears, pineapple, mango, etc. I’ve never seen these fruit trees before, so it’s brand new for me to be surrounded by fruit trees and to be able to go outside and pick off fruit fresh from any tree. As Americans, we often have no clue where our grocery produce comes from or how it’s grown. Here in TZ, any small child can tell you how corn grows or which fruit grows on what tree.
• Today I got to observe Kaka (brother) Omari climb up a huge coconut tree near the house and hack down about ten coconuts. It was incredible how easily he could move up the length of the tree while carrying a machete in his hand.
• Here are a few of the emotions I’ve been going through recently. So far I’ve been so extremely occupied with learning Swahili that I haven’t had much time to think. I’ve had moments of homesickness and wonder if I’ll ever make it here for 2 years. Going home seems so easy right now and I catch myself thinking of the different illnesses or disasters that would make this possible. Yet I try not to think of going home as an option because I know deep down this is where I belong for now. Besides, I’d never forgive myself if I gave up so easily. How else will I grow and learn if I’m not challenged? I’ve also been stressing myself out trying to learn at the same pace as my CBT peers. I need to remember what my country director, Andrea, said about all us trainees being different kinds of fruits and we will all learn Swahili at our own pace. Therefore, it is pointless to compare myself with others.
• Woman here are not afraid to expose their breasts when breastfeeding their child. Breasts are not as sexualized as they are in the states. It will take some getting used to seeing women exposed like this, but I appreciate they see breasts for the purpose of nourishing their children.
• I’ve noticed I’ve gradually adapted to sharing the choo with large insects. Now it’s just a matter of counting them to see how many will be sharing choo time with me. I dread the day when I meet my first large spider or snake. There have been rats in the house but they seem to stay on the rafters. Baba (host father) called them ‘rabbits’ in English.
• I’ve been eating fish (head, tail and all) almost every day. I never thought I’d be able to eat scales and dried fish. Now it’s just a part of a normal meal.
• I often have to use the choo during the middle of the night. Baba calls it my “emergency choo”. This is the only time I miss having a western toilet inside. However, the night sky is always so beautiful and the weather is perfect at night (it’s their cold season right now). I swear the moon and stars are much bigger and brighter than in America. Might be difference of pollution, but also because I’m right on the equator. I’ll have to do some research…
• There are no pedestrian rights here. The main highway goes through my host family’s village, Kibanda. I constantly hear honking of vehicles warning people to clear the way because the driver doesn’t waste time slowing down. David (in my CBT) thinks the bus horns sound like a noise off of Play Station Warrior Princess. The noise of the horn is high pitched and animated like a video game. About a week ago a girl was hit on the road right by the school. She lived through it but her arm was broken. I’m amazed more accidents don’t happen because the vehicles here don’t slow down at all!
• Houses are mainly made out of the dark orange soil here with a grass roof. I live in one of the few houses with actual brick and concrete for walls and floor, and metal sheet roofing. There’s almost a college dormitory atmosphere in the village because of the frequency of neighbors visiting. Most villagers don’t have the distractions of TVs or electronics, so they socialize more with people around them. Tanzanians love to greet. At least 2-5 minutes of a conversation is just greetings. People here rarely answer a greeting negatively, like ‘how are you’ by saying things aren’t okay. Even if they’re lying on the bed sick, they’ll answer ‘I’m alright’ or ‘I’ve been better.”
• Food here is about the same every day: rice or ugali, beans, spinach, and sometimes meat (fish, goat, beef, chicken, and pork). Chai is a very important part of Tanzanian custom. People in Tanga like their chai spicy. Chai is a mix of cinnamon, cardamom, and black pepper. Most Tanzanians drink chai in the early morning, and later at 10 am along with chapatti (a greasy tortilla) and mandazi (a sugarless fried doughnut). Lunch is at 1 pm and usually consists of ugali, dagaa (dried sardines), and some sort of greens. White rice is mostly eaten by the wealthy, especially during the evening meal around 7-9 pm.
• The soda here is really sweet because of the unrefined sugar cane. Soda mostly comes in glass bottles and all bottles are sent back to the pop company to refill and redistribute…and hopefully the bottle is cleaned beforehand.
• My family, especially Baba, is extremely protective of me. I always have to apologize and explain whenever I come home a little later than expected. I don’t mind having such a protective family; at least I know they care about me. I feel so well cared for, actually spoiled. I always have a kaka (brother) or dada (sister) offering me a chair or helping me with small household tasks. I hardly do any work here besides wash my own laundry, and they even help me with that. Although, after a full day of Swahili lessons, I get home around 5pm and I feel completely exhausted.
• I actually don’t even think about how I’m living without electricity or running water. It will probably be more obvious when I’m on my own and have to do house chores all by myself.
• Babies here spend most of their immobile life strapped in a khanga behind their mother’s back. Babies seem to sleep through anything even when their mama is working in the field or cooking next to the fire. The babies have access to their mother’s breasts anytime. I rarely notice a baby crying because it’s always held by someone in the family. It’s amazing how strong the women are here. I often see women balancing a large bucket of water or stack of firewood on their heads with a baby strapped on back, and sometimes even a hoe or another bucket of water in their hands. I remember being so disgusted in class one day when I watched a woman pass by with a huge load of firewood on her head and she was carrying a baby. Her husband just walked next to her….carrying nothing!
• Every morning I wake up around 6:20 am because that’s when the roosters start their morning ritual outside my window. Ducks, goats, and chickens roam the town as if they own it. However, they all seem to remember where their home is, and they return each night….unless a thief or another animal manages to grab some of the livestock.
• The walking pace here is so much slower than what I’m used to in America’s fast paced culture. I think it’s because it’s impossible to walk fast in a khanga. However, people here seem to believe they own time. There’s always tomorrow if they don’t get something done today. There is a saying “Americans have watches, but Tanzanians have time”. Tanzanians believe people are more important than work, so time is always made for greetings and socializing. TIA = This Is Africa….what my Swahili teacher always says when explaining why things are the way they are here.
• I love that I’ll hear the most random American pop or country songs. I don’t even know where they get some of this stuff. People here don’t even know what the lyrics are but they sing to it anyway. It’s so good to hear familiar music. It’s almost creepy how much influence America has on the rest of the world and we don’t even realize it living in the states. I’ve met people from all over the world, and many of them seem to know more about the US than what some US citizens know about their own country. Michael Jackson, Obama, and Bob Marley are icons here. There are t-shirts, flashlights, shoes and bags with these guys’ faces on it.
• Apparently there is nothing wrong with picking your nose here. I see people do it all the time in public.
July 12, 2009
This morning I woke up to yelling outside my window. I looked out of the window near my bed to find myself staring at a pair of long black legs of a completely naked man standing on the top of the stalled car in front of my family’s home. Apparently the man had some mental issues and just happened to strip right in front of my window. Neighbors surrounded him and told him to move or they’d hit him with a stick or get the police. They also somewhat helped the man dress himself. At first I was extremely startled and a bit scared of what this man might do. However I then realized he was harmless and I was able to see the humor in this situation.
July 15, 2009
I had my site placement interview with my Environment APCD (Assistant Program Coordinator Director), Eliguard. He asked me questions about my skills, interests, and weather and location preferences. I hope I answered these questions clearly enough so he can match me well with my site for two years. I’ve been studying like crazy for the Swahili mid exam tomorrow. I’m not too worried about not passing, but I’d rather not be last in my group.
July 16, 2009
Today was pretty good. I’m done with the Swahili mid-term oral and written exam. I don’t think I did too shabby. PC staff provided snacks as a way of rewarding us for getting through half of training. I ate cheese, crackers, and oatmeal cookies which tasted so much better than I ever remember them being in America. It’s crazy how much you crave familiar foods, even foods you didn’t care so much about in the states.
It’s pretty awesome how much my host family cares about me. They must have known how stressed I was with taking the exam today. They told me they prayed for me to do well on the exam and were all anxious to know how I did. Baba has been pushing me to improve my Swahili. Every night, after eating supper, Baba asks me to describe in Swahili my American and Tanzanian families over and over until I get it right. The rest of my poor family has to sit and listen to me stutter over the same stories, explaining each of my family members’ names and ages. My whole family is incredibly patient with my language learning process, especially Baba. Before I left this morning, he made sure I knew that he hoped I’d do well on the exam.
July 17, 2009
As part of our one retreat during training, all of us trainees spent the weekend at Pangoni Beach at the Tented Lodge run by a former PCV and her husband. The resort is on the Indian Ocean, only a few hours from my host family’s place. I stayed in the couple’s original house and it was amazing: electricity, running water, and the most gorgeous view of the Indian Ocean next to land full of palm trees. It felt so good to have privacy again, to not have people constantly watch and study us. The food was amazing as well. Never has cheese, omelets, and sausage tasted so good. And freshly squeezed orange juice! On the way back to Kibanda, we stopped by Amboni Cave. Our guided tour was pretty ridiculous, but the cave was cool.
July 20, 2009
Ate a record amount of oranges today…7+ I think
I’m about half way through training and I’ve realized how much I adore my host family and vice versa. Baba asked if I’d be happy to leave and I told them I know I’ll be a bit heartbroken when I have to leave the comforts of their home. I’ve gotten so comfortable with my family, I almost prefer staying at home rather than going to class everyday with other PCTs. However, I am ready for more independence and to be done with training. It’s been wonderful having these people here care for me. I’m sure I provided a great source of entertainment for my family with all my new discoveries and blunders. I think Tanzanians are generally friendly and accepting of wazungu (white foreigners) especially Americans, thanks to our African American celebrities and our president.
Today the ladies at the water pump asked if I put oil in my hair. They kept touching my hair and couldn’t get over how thin and soft my hair was. I’ve also had kids touch my skin, like they don’t believe it’s real or they think my skin might feel different than theirs. I don’t mind their curiosity. I realize I’m the first white person many of the children and villagers have seen.
July 22, 2009
It’s funny how people think the weather here is cold. The coolest the temps get is maybe 70s. Yet people still bust out heavy winter coats and stocking caps.
July 26, 2009
Last night I saw my first large rodent in the choo. I would have run out screaming but I was in the middle of bathing.
It made me feel especially good last night when Baba said I’m really one of his children. He said this because I told him he didn’t need to pay for a lantern glass that I broke because he had enough to worry about supporting his kids. Baba just laughed at this and said I AM one of his kids.
It’s strange to think about Tara (my cousin) and Jake getting married yesterday. America seems so far away. It feels funny knowing the whole family was involved in something and I was the only one not there. Speaking of weddings, I constantly get asked if I’m married or have a boyfriend. I’ve learned that the best thing to do is lie whenever it’s a guy asking. However, sometimes that doesn’t work because men tell me ‘he doesn’t have to know’.
My choo flip flops are missing. First item stolen in Tanzania…
Today I went to Muheza with Mama, Kaka (brother) Athmid, and Dada (sister) Mwanaima. We walked all the way there, about 3km and little mama carried Kaka Athmid (he’s a large 1 year old) on her back for most of the way until I realized how tired she was and then I carried him. Mama bought me 3 gifts: lantern glass, flip flops, and a scrunchy. On the way home we took a daladala (a small van with no capacity limit). I sat next to five women stuffed in the back and a chicken. Mama crammed into the seat in front of me and still found room to breastfeed Kaka Athmid.
It’s interesting how children can just run around the village and the parents don’t have to worry about their kids’ safety. The whole village is responsible for the children’s safety, so everyone helps each other. Yesterday a couple came to the house to tell my Baba (he’s a village chairman) that their neighbor was not sending his 9 yr old boy to school. Baba then documented this and went to talk to the boy’s father.
Mama is the one who does the most housework in the family. She’s usually up around 6 am mopping, sweeping, and getting chai ready. The kids help her get things done as well. I feel kind of bad because she always prepares chai and eggs early in the morning just for me because I leave for Swahili lessons. Women don’t get the recognition they deserve with all that they do for their family. The men are the ones that do “real work” because they bring the money in. Yet that’s not always true because sometimes women bring in the income.
I’ve started to realize why it’s so difficult for villagers to be open to changes and new alternatives to better their livelihoods. Most people here are stuck in survival mode, so all they can think about is today and maybe tomorrow. Many families have to worry about the most basic essential in life, such as water. There is just no extra money to be spent to experiment with new farming techniques or invest in a business. Very few farmers harvest enough to sell; most crops are used for family consumption.
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