“Jesus will protect.” You’d expect these words to come from the mouth of parents consoling their troubled child. But to know that they came from the mouth of Tatu, a 15 year old orphan, a Sawala student, one of the students we support, a Muslim, it is amazing.

It was an early evening Tatu and I were talking about her working at the house late and returning home in the dark. Tatu, maybe 4 feet tall, with a petite body of a young girl but a more mature; bolder character of a woman, looked at me and said, “I am not afraid of the dark. I don’t fear anything. Because teacher, I know that Jesus will protect me!” I’m not sure, but I imagine that my jaw had dropped. “Really ? You’re not afraid of the dark, of something in the night?” (I’ve met so many Tanzanians who do not like being alone at night.) “No, because I know that Jesus protects me.” “Really ?! You believe that Jesus is with you always ? I am happy to hear that you think this. If you believe in Jesus, that He is with you, then it is true – He will never leave you, but can protect you because he wants the best for you.”

We (missionary teachers) help Tatu to pay school fees and she helps out around our house. This has created opportunities to exchange ideas, to share more personally, and to [share the gospel]. Tatu was first recruited by Jen, a 6-month missionary here earlier this year.This young student is almost like a phenomenon. Intelligent, a fighter, a hardworker. Her father committed suicide and her mother passed from an illness. Her brother was welcomed by her uncle to the city. He’s a boy. Tatu was sent to other extended family in this village. Her uncle financially supports her, but she is still struggling by the end of each month. A young teenager, she lives in a ghetto (rented room) and carries all responsibilities on her own little shoulders. So, Jen decided to give Tatu a better chance at life by helping with her tuition. Day by day, the conversations got more serious. She spoke to her about God, and they prayed together. Tatu is interested and she feels it speaks to her heart. But she is also faithful to her Islamic background. Jen planted a seed. God will grow it.

Jen completed her mission in Tanzania back in June, but we’re continuing here with Tatu. She helps three times a week, sometimes with cooking, when we’ll ask her to make delicious chapatis, the Tanzanian tortilla! We continue to pray for Tatu, to encourage her in her studies, and to be available to speak with her. I believe Jesus has his arms wide open to her, patiently waiting for her heart to turn to him completely.

Today I sit here marking tests, beaming at the thought of my students. I didn’t know I could love these kids so much; I didn’t know I could be so proud of them. Granted, yesterday I was ready to pull my hair out in frustration with some of them, yet I can’t help but love them! Ayoub, one of my form 1 English students just came to visit me during his 10-minute break. He brought with him a beautiful picture he had drawn of a bouquet of roses above which he wrote, “Special for Miss Jennifer. Your a good teacher for my self. I have no gift to give you. I think never ever I don’t forget you.” I can think of very few gifts more precious to me right now than this.

It seems that anything worth doing is filled with its fair share of trials. So many times over the past months I’ve journaled stuff like, “Okay, I’m done. I’m ready to go home now.” (Truth be told, my language was often a bit more colorful than that!) As a friend who is teaching in a challenging context in the U.S. put it, “I fantasized about quitting more times than I care to admit.” But here I am, my time in Tanzania coming to a close, and I’m so glad I didn’t give up too soon! It is beyond me how God weaves all of our challenges, shortcomings, and failures together with the joys and successes into a beautiful mosaic which reflects His glory, I’m just glad he does!

“I think the Lord, just as He gives daily bread, I think He gives us new vision and He gives us new eyes to see new things and He puts us in a new place with new opportunities and new resources and if He never gave us anything new, than our dependence on him would certainly be less because we’d still be depending on that initial vision, that initial provision, that initial…kind of manna that was only really intended to get us from “A”  to “B”. And so I don’t feel like I have exactly the same vision that I did when I started, but it did get me to where I am now. And I am, at best, at any moment, just chasing after what I believe to be whatever the Lord has for me to be doing and just honestly trying to trust my instincts…
While it is good to have big ideas and it is good to chase after them and to see them come to light, maybe those things [ideas] are part of a season for us and that that might bring us to a new place to see a new idea and to go a different direction…our life is made up of seasons and those are things that we can look forward to.”

In my humble opinion there were a number of things “wrong” with our vehicle:
18 adults squeezed into what should have been a 12-13 passenger van, no one
wearing a seatbelt, there were five large cracks in the windshield, the
doors were practically falling off, exhaust fumes settled around us like a
cloud… Did the policeman pick on any of these things? No. Instead, I heard
him say something about “mzungu” (white person) and since I was the only
white person around, assumed he was talking about me. Sure enough, the guy
made his way over to my window and began a litany of questions: What is your
name? Where do you come from? What are you doing here? What do you teach? I
tried to answer his questions as best I could in a mixture of Kiswahili and
English. He was kind enough – nothing like the super serious authorities
I’ve encountered in other countries (like Romania). When he was finished
with his questions, he apologized for the condition of my door (which didn’t
seem to close all of the way). I responded with the only Kiswahili phrase I
could think of at the moment: “hakuna matata” (no worries). Thank God for
the Lion King!

After questioning me, he moved on to questioning the driver who, we soon
discovered, did not have his license. Great. The thought of being detained
and having to walk home did not appeal to me. A few minutes later the
officer addressed me again: “You are going to be my witness.” “Okay,” I
said, “For what?” I never got a solid answer. Something about me witnessing
the fact that he wasn’t going to fine the driver, I think. At this point I
couldn’t help but be humored and make light of the situation. The rest of
our conversation went something like this:
Me: “Do you want to see my passport?”
Officer: “Yes.”
(I show him a copy of my passport which I had on me. He examines it.)
Officer: “Jennifer Ann… How many years?”
Me: “26″
Officer: “Are you married?”
Me: “No.”
Officer: “Why not?”
Me: “I don’t know. That’s a good question.”
Officer: “Okay. I am coming to Sawala.”
Me: “Okay. Keribu nyumbani!” (Welcome to my house!)

And that was that. Soon we were on our way.

During our trip whenever vehicles drove by I unashamedly flaunted my white skin like nobody’s business. Whether out of pity, curiosity, a chance to practice English, intrigue of a mzungu (white person) hitch-hiking, or genuine African hospitality, it worked a few times. We got partial rides along the way, for which I was incredibly grateful. Side note: I must say, I have a newfound appreciation for shocks. The worst dirt roads in BFE (I’m throwing that expression in there just for you, Ryan) NH in the springtime can’t top some of the road conditions I’ve experienced here in Africa!

Somewhere along our way to Kasanga, I realized Mainess was simply enjoying the journey while I was concentrated on arriving at our destination and getting quite grumpy about our transportation sheda (problem). Actually, I’m realizing this paradigm is indicative of more than just physical journeys in my life. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how I am so prone to live with the next best thing in mind. In some ways this is a good quality -  it keeps one from growing stagnant. But in other ways it can be a real weakness. There’s a point, I think, where one needs to learn to enjoy the journey, embrace the process and see “the glory in the gray” (as one poet put it). I’m not so sure “enjoying the journey” and “keeping the next best thing in mind” are polar opposite, mutually exclusive concepts, but I seem to have a hard time living simultaneously in both realms.

We finally arrived at Mainess’ house. Her family was beyond thrilled that I came to visit. They rolled out the red carpet for me - killed a chicken for dinner and everything. (Eating meat is a luxury I have come to greatly appreciate since being here. Even still, I politely but firmly refused the chicken kidney Mainess very nearly plopped on my plate, due to the fact that I was “already so full”.) To top it all off, her family sent me home with blessings and a gift of cabbage, mboga (greens), corn and beans. I walked away with a full stomach, full hands and a full heart.

I’m glad I went to Kasanga with Mainess. I was also very glad to return home to Sawala (by bus, thank God). And maybe somewhere along the way I slowly started to learn to simply enjoy the journey.

When I’m 64, I hope I’m like Mary. Mary is one of my team members who came to Tanzania in January. I love this woman! She’s in her sixties and here for six months teaching at Madisi — a school that is approx. 2 hours from where I’m located (Sawala).

Last Saturday Mary and I had plans to get together, but due to unforeseen circumstances, I had to cancel at the last minute. Worried that Mary wouldn’t receive my cancellation message on time, early Saturday morning I walked to the bus stop to meet her – just in case she had come. It was a foggy, rainy morning. When I didn’t see Mary on the bus, I assumed this meant she had received my message. I returned home and sat down with the girls to enjoy a warm cup of coffee. A few minutes later, we heard the revving of a motorcycle outside, followed by the sound of Mary’s voice. Sure enough, it was Mary along with our friend, Dismass, from Madisi.

After hugs, taking off her neon orange jacket and drying her wet hair with a towel, we got the whole story: Mary hadn’t received my cancellation message. The bus that leaves from Madisi couldn’t make it up the muddy, potholed road the night before, so she wasn’t able to catch the bus that morning. Instead, Dismass (one of the Tanzanian teachers at Madisi) had a motorcycle and needed to go into town to get petrol, so Mary hopped on the back of the motorcycle and caught a ride with him! (Conveniently ignoring the fact that it’s an informal VST rule that foreign teachers shouldn’t ride on motorcycles because they’re so dangerous and recently there was an unfortunate motorcycle accident involving a VST student.) Half way to Sawala Mary and Dismass ran out of Petrol and had to wait for about an hour in the rain to get more, but eventually they made it here!

I have this mental image of Mary in her neon orange jacket, gray hair blowing in the wind as she rides down muddy deteriorating dirt roads in Tanzania on the back of a motorcycle, literally throwing caution to the wind. I seriously hope I’m like Mary when I’m 64.

How are you? What’s up in America? I need another political update!
Not that I really have much hope in the political system, but it’s
interesting news when you’re living in Africa.

I hear all the snow in the Northeast is FINALLY melting. Yay! God
definitely has a sense of humor. I was all excited about escaping the
winter and going to Africa where I assumed it would be warm-hot most
of the time. WRONG. Of all places, I’ve landed in a mountainous region
of Tanzania, which is BEAUTIFUL, but cold and getting progressively
colder by the day. Yesterday I was incredibly grateful for my warm hat
and gloves. Brrr! I think I will be happy to return to the States in
the summer, when it’s hot.

I continue to enjoy teaching and the kids with whom I am working.
Whenever I find myself getting upset with students for coming late to
school, not doing there homework, or falling asleep in class, I have
to take a moment to remind myself of their situation: Some kids walk
over two hours each way everyday, just to come to school. It is the
rainy season, so students are often walking in the rain and few have
umbrellas or any kind of rain gear. Further, chores and helping out at
home take up a significant amount of students’ time. I wonder how much
sleep these kids get…

Right now as I write this (in my notebook to be transferred to the
computer later), I am proctoring a test. I’m watching sixty five of my
Form 1B students. Many of them are straining to see the questions
written on the blackboard. Because they don’t have individual books and they don’t have individual printed copies of the test to look at, they are
copying questions from a sub-standard, nicked blackboard. It’s cold
and windy. At least half of the windows in our classroom are broken
and uncovered. The wind blows in one side of the classroom and out the
other as if the whole room were a screened window. The climate is like
that of a cold fall day in New England. So much for the warm, humid
“African” weather I was hoping for!

So many times since coming here I’ve thought about the fact that I
wouldn’t stand a chance as a student here; I wouldn’t make it for even
a week! I’d be totally screwed.

The commitment to education and hunger to learn that I see in students
here is impressive. Of course, these kids are adolescents ¬ they joke
around when they should be serious, they try to get out of work, they
don’t always do their homework etc. But overall, it is such a joy for
me to teach students who see the opportunity to get an education as a
coveted privilege and not a forced act of drudgery. I wish students in
the U.S. could get a dose of this!

So that’s a little bit of what’s up in my world. Currently I’m at an
internet cafe attempting to send more pictures. Hope to post them
soon! Thanks again for all of your love and support. I hope all is
well with you.

Much Love,
Jenifa (as they pronounce/spell my name here)