Mary and Dismass

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.

Hello Friends and Family!

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)

Since coming here I’ve visited several different churches. So far I like a Roman Catholic church near our house the best. I like it for a few different reasons:
1) It’s a 7-minute walk from my house.
2) There’s no annoying crackling sound system and no one trying to accompany the singers with a god-awful twangy synthesizer.
3) There are a lot of cute little kids.
4) There’s something about the liturgy - even though I don’t understand the majority of what’s being said because it’s  in Swahili - that I feel helps me to enter into a deeper awareness of God’s presence.

I feel like it’s good to be in church (even though I don’t understand much of what is being said) for the community aspect and because it forces me to set aside time to be still. Some Sundays, however, it really is refreshing for me to stay home and be still. This past week was one such time. I found myself listening to an old podcast I had on my computer from Derick Webb. I LOVE what he has to say:

“Jesus has already loved the poor perfectly on our behalf and that is our righteousness; that is our only claim on the favor of the Father now and forever in glory and there is not a thing we can do to change that. That is the reason that we are now liberated - Jesus has already done it on our behalf. All this work, whatever we might do in order to love and take care of people does not earn for us not the tiniest bit of favor before the Father. And I’ve heard too many of my…brothers and sisters who have a heart for these issues get up in front of people and - especially when addressing the humanitarian emergency that’s happening over in Africa right now - say that God is going to judge us based on our response to what’s happening in Africa. I just think that’s an outright lie. I think that God has already judged and punished Jesus for the fact that we don’t love people well. I think that has already occurred. And I think that is our motivation for loving and caring for our neighbors who are poor  - not to earn God’s favor, but because we already have God’s favor.”

4.20.08

This morning (Sunday) I was too lazy to start a fire and make breakfast. I opted instead to take a three-minute walk up the road to Mama Shemaya’s duka (roadside shop) where I thought I might be able to buy a cup of chai (tea) and mandazi (fried bread). I set out, Starbucks travel mug in hand, planning to be back to the house within a few minutes. Unfortunately, Mama Shemaya had no tea and no mandazi. L I decided to walk a bit further in hopes of finding breakfast somewhere else. Soon I ran into one of my students, Tatu, on the road. She saw the Starbucks travel mug I was carrying and asked where I was going. When I explained my situation, she adamantly exclaimed, “I will make tea for you. Go, get mandazi and when you return, come to my house.” A polite decline wasn’t happening, so I promised to return with mandazi for both of us to share over chai at her house.

Shortly after saying goodbye to Tatu, I came to a mama selling soup on the side of the road. A few minutes later I found myself sitting in her living room slurping soup. After finishing and thanking this mama, I continued on my journey and came to Mama Henry’s house, where she was selling mandazi. But simply buying mandazi and leaving was not an option. Mama Henry gave me a big hug and invited me into her home. I tried “my level best” (as they often say around here) to communicate in Swahili to Mama Henry that I was happy to see her but couldn’t stay because I needed to return to my student’s home. She wouldn’t hear of it. After a short visit I purchased two pieces of mandazi; Mama Henry gave me three pieces. I thanked her and was on my way.

I finally arrived at Tatu’s “ghetto” (rented room where she and another student live) where she, her roommate and I talked and enjoyed tea and mandazi together. I couldn’t help but notice the 2004 calendar that hung on the wall as a decoration. When I was ready to leave, Tatu made sure my travel mug was filled with tea to take home. She and Mainess then “escorted” me on my walk home. I arrived back at the house around 9:30am. My three-minute jaunt up the road had turned into an hour and a half excursion. The level of hospitality in this culture never ceases to amaze me!

In Tanzania there is a saying: “Miti Haikosi Kugusana.” (Trees living close together naturally brush up against each other.) Essentially this means that when you live in community, you inevitably occasionally “rub someone the wrong way”. It’s just the way it is.

When four people live together, there’s bound to be an occasional disagreement. When four women live together, the “disagreement odds” increase. When four women with different cultural values and backgrounds live together, well, let’s just say there are PLENTY of opportunities to practice love and forgiveness and “keeping no record of wrongs”.

For the most part we do quite well. But this was a hard week. Today, in particular, was especially hard. Tears…anger…not-so-pleasant words exchanged… No hair pulling though, so that was good. I just indulged in my last Reese’s Peanut Butter cup. I save these for special occasions when I’m really frustrated and in dire need of chocolate therapy.

I wish I could end this post with something like, “…and we all lived happily ever after.” I’m sure (or at least hopeful) there will be resolution, apologies and reaffirmation of love at some point this weekend. Right now I must be honest and admit that I’m still a bit pissed off. Thank you very much for this opportunity to be in Africa, God, but I’m ready to go home now.

I REALLY love black babies. Lucky for me, here Mamas are often thrilled to “share the wealth (of children). Lately I’ve been wanting to carry a kid around the like the mamas do “snuggly style”. In the States we have special backpacks and/or thick material specifically sewn and designed for carting the kidos. We also have disposable diapers - a wonderful invention. Here in the village a mama uses her conga (a multi-functional piece of material that can act as a wrap around skirt, an apron, a cloth for cleaning kids and hands, a towel, a covering when it rains etc.) to attach her child to her back. And diapers? Well, the closest I’ve seen to a diaper is plastic underwear. Whatever works, right?

Today I got my chance to cart a baby around snuggly style. Mama Nasibu (who helps us with cooking and cleaning during the week) had just changed her son, Sherry’s, clothes (complete with new plastic underwear) and generously handed him over to me, teaching me how to tie the conga attaching Sherry to my back. It was great. Sherry and I had a wonderful time together. I carted him to the school to pick up papers and back to our house where I sat down to work on grades. Literally, JUST when I started to think, “God, I’d really like to have a black baby…”, I felt this wet sensation on my back area. Let me just say, plastic underwear sucks. I gave Sherry back to Mama Nasibu. As I was changing my clothes (the kid let out enough pee to soak through my three layers of clothing!) I decided to be more careful about what I pray for.

One of the things I truly love about this culture is that on any given day
as I walk down the road I consistently hear small voices exuberantly
shouting, “Good morning, teacher!” (often even if it is afternoon or
evening). The little kids around here are PRECIOUS! Sometimes I can’t help
but stop and pick them up, or at the very least, touch their heads. And when
I do this, NO ONE is worried that I might be a kidnapper of have any kind of
ill intentions… (Picking up a little kid in a grocery store in the States,
on the other hand, probably wouldn’t go over so well.) Maybe I’m biased, but I think little black kids are among God’s best, most beautiful creations. (C.J. Doan may also be included in this category, though I’ve only seen pictures…)

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