Deja Vu

Nine months later and here I am, back again in Moshi, Tanzania. In some ways, it feels as though I never left (is that good or bad?). This time around, I've decided to try to write shorter posts and more often, though a week has already gone by, and this is the first you're hearing from me -- not a very good beginning!!!! Since beginnings are important, however (though we don't often realize why until we look back), I will begin with my arrival at Kilimanjaro National Airport, the starting point of the most recent turning point in my life. As I walked through the sliding doors, I was very excited to see what kind of welcome Monika (Give A Heart To Africa's director and now a dear friend) had planned for me; I had been told that the red carpet would be down and that the Maasai mamas and warriors would be out in number for the occasion. Bear in mind that I was the official welcome sign designer/maker during my four-month stint last year, so I was curious to see how the new sign would compare. Well, needless to say, when I walked into the arrivals hall I didn't see anyone familiar anxiously waiting for me to appear, or any sign with anything close to my name on it. I tried to think positively, telling myself that Monika probably figured that the plane wouldn't be on time (after all, this is Africa) and that it would take me a little while to pick up my bag, etc., and therefore she'd probably appear a few minutes late, accompanied by Kasanda, our taxi driver. So, I patiently waited, watching  the hall empty out little by little, my heart growing heavier by the minute. Hmm, still no sign of any greeting party for me... Finally I had no choice but to face the facts -- I was alone in the arrivals hall. Not a good sign; was this an omen of things to come? Luckily (or was it fate?), I had decided to bring my Spanish cell phone with me with enough credit to send a few text messages if needed. The occasion had arrived. I texted Monika asking her if I should take it personally that nobody was at the airport to greet me. A minute later I received her panicked response: Was I joking? She wasn't expecting me until that night. As the reality settled in, so did I, at the "outdoor cafe" in front of the arrivals hall, a cup of tea and my book in hand, and my eyes watching the two men sleeping nearby on the grass, all of us waiting for something or someone to rescue us from our current situation. Monika showed up about an hour later with Kasanda and whisked me away. The men were still sleeping.

A Typical Day, Part II

Habari za jioni (good evening) from Moshi. I've owed you this post for a long time -- hope you enjoy it!

Our school ends at 12 noon. Every Monday and Thursday we run an afternoon program for the neighborhood kids, and every Tuesday and Wednesday we offer extra help for our students. Not many students stay for extra help, much to our dismay and prodding. The program for the kids is very popular (both among the kids and their parents!) -- so much so that the kids who live closest to the school are arriving earlier and earlier! One morning, 3 1/2-year old Aisha showed up at the beginning of school, thinking it was time to play!! I had to take her by the hand and show her the classrooms filled with students so that she would understand why she couldn't stay. This past Thursday, there was a tap, tap, tapping at the gate at 1:30pm (the program is from 2pm-4pm)!! Monique (a wonderful Kiwi volunteer who was with us for a month and just left yesterday) and I were the only volunteers at home and we were rushing to get some lunch (i.e., energy) before the onslaught and, at the same time, finish making the crowns that the kids were going to decorate as a little arts & crafts project. Why were we rushing? Because we have exactly 2 hours between when classes end and the little devils arrive (assuming they arrive on time rather than early), and this particular day we had to run an errand in town first (it's about a 20-25 minute walk each way). So, there we were, quickly shoveling food into our mouths and, at the same time, tracing and cutting crowns, while every 5 minutes the little ones were banging on the gate! Normally I just open the gate and tell them to come back at 2pm, after which they leave and come back 10 minutes later; I usually break down at that point and let them in. This time, however, I was under strict instructions from Monique not to go near the gate! So the kids just kept coming back, knocking and shouting out "hodi" -- the standard Swahili greeting when you want to enter someone's home. It was quite funny. At 2pm, I opened the gate and about 8 kids came running in. Usually the kids range in age from about 2 1\2 to 6, since regular school starts for them at the age of 7. However, when school is closed, we get the older kids too, bringing the count to close to 20!! Communicating with them is always a challenge. Usually for at least one of the two days we have a student help us out, which is FANTASTIC. When she’s not there, however, let’s just say that things can get a bit “wild”. We’ve taught the kids how to do the “Hokie Pokie”--they particularly like screaming out “hey!”--and “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes”, but their absolute favorite activity is dancing, and you would be amazed at how even the youngest ones can move their hips (puts me to shame). Check out the video on my Facebook page, if you can! Jumping rope and playing catch are tied for second place among the favorite activities. By the time 4pm rolls around, we are exhausted, but we must drum up some remaining energy to make sure that all of the kids leave with the people they’re supposed to leave with (and with nobody extra tagging along--see my July post “Lost And Found”). And then there are the times when 4:30pm rolls around, and even 5pm, and there are still some kids hanging around waiting for someone to come and get them (but I won’t go into that now).

So, basically, Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons (after extra help) are the only weekdays we can really spend any meaningful time in town. When we’re not with the kids or in town, we’re usually preparing lesson plans, cleaning, studying Swahili (those of us who are taking lessons), or doing what I’m doing now (i.e., trying to email or update our blogs).

Every Friday we generally have two home visits (see my June post "Home Visit" if you haven't already), one in the morning and one in the afternoon. They last about two hours each, on average, so, together with the time it takes to get to the homes, our day is pretty much occupied. These visits are vital to understanding our students better, being aware of their life stories, meeting their families, seeing their living conditions and determining who are the neediest ones. It is an eye-opening and humbling experience. I will add another post soon to tell you about some of our recent ones.

So there you have it, the end of a typical day--exhausting at times, but always rewarding and always a learning experience for me.

Kwaheri for now and stay in touch, please!

Victoria

A Typical Day – Part I

Welcome to Ushirika – the university campus where Give A Heart To Africa is based. The roosters get started early here – as early as 2:30am sometimes, but usually more like 4:30am. No, I don't get out of bed at that time, but I usually listen to them for a while (not because I want to) before dozing off again. Unfortunately, any chances of sound sleep are lost at this point. Often, the call to prayer joins the chorus, and, if we're extra lucky, music from the surrounding housing (not always university students). I usually give up on any further sleep by the time 6am rolls around, but have even had a few 5am-ers (in fact, it's 4am now, my time, and in a half hour I have to leave for the airport to greet our next volunteer). The sun continues its slumber, however, usually until about 11am or so (Moshi is a cloudy place, perhaps because of  Kilimanjaro). Don't be fooled…I'm not always the first up in the house; often, Beverly (who is filling in for Monika) is already in the kitchen making coffee by the time I arrive on the scene. Once I've made myself some Kilimanjaro tea, I usually go over my lesson plan for the morning and perhaps try to study a bit of Swahili, and even sometimes attempt to connect to the Internet—note the word, "attempt." At about 7:30/8am I go to my classroom (which is in a small annex attached to the house) to write as much of the first lesson as possible on the blackboard.

 

School starts at 9am, and we open the front gate for the students at about 8:50am. Beforehand, usually Beverly or I check out the students' toilet, which, over the past two months has been broken one out of every two days. By broken I mean, either someone has torn off the flushing handle (in his/her zeal for cleanliness I assume), or the floor is flooded (with exactly what, we're never quite sure). Often, our night watchman (who also uses the toilet) has not aimed very well (sometimes with the seat down, sometimes with the seat up)--despite many demonstrations of proper toilet etiquette--so you can guess what that means… Most Tanzanians have drop toilets, which probably explains the problem.

 

We no longer let any students through the gate after 9am, unless they've given us prior notice or have a good reason for being late. We used to grant a 10-minute grace period (i.e., we locked the front gate at 9:10am), but the students started arriving later and later, so we did away with it. It's not very pleasant having to send late students home, but it's the only way they will understand that we are serious about the education here and that they must be as well.

 

As I think I've mentioned before, school hours are from 9am-12pm. During that time, I teach two business classes (1.5 hours each) with the help of my translator/co-teacher, Herman. Herman is a former student of Give A Heart To Africa and is also one of my two Swahili teachers. He is THE BEST! All in all, I have four classes of students: 1A + 2A on Mondays and Wednesdays, and 1B and 2B on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The 2s go at a slightly faster pace than the 1s and have a better grasp of English, so Herman doesn't need to interpret everything I'm saying for them. However, for the 1s, everything needs to be repeated in Swahili. Since we don't use any textbook, we (the teachers) have to write everything on the blackboard. For the business class, this means in both English and Swahili – that's a lot of writing on the blackboard! And since the two classes a day don't always go at the same pace, we have to rewrite everything on the blackboard for the second class. Though we only teach for 3 hours, it's pretty tiring!

Lost And Found

Mambo! Sorry it has been so long since my last post -- now that we've re-started the after-school program for the kids in the neighborhood I have less time free to come into town to the Internet cafe. Also, there have been electricity and Internet problems in town for the past few days and many Internet cafes have had no service. Given that I've mentioned the after-school program, I will devote this blog to the crisis we had this week, only a couple of hours before Monika had to leave for the airport (for her 2-month visit home, in Canada). We run the program for the kids every Monday and Thursday from 2-4pm. This is the second week of the program and the number of kids is growing. The flyers we put up around the neighborhood said that the program was for kids aged 3-8, but I think our youngest is 2 1/2 and our oldest is 12 (not counting Edward, the 15-year old brother of one of the kids who came and helped out one day). We have different activities for the kids -- practicing their ABCs and their numbers, coloring, doing a puzzle, playing with Barbies, jumping rope, bowling, playing with match box cars, etc. If I had to choose their favorite right now, I'd say it was the jumping rope (I think that's my favorite too). Anyway, one of our students brought her son (let's call him "J") for the first time and told me she would come to pick him up (some of the kids walk home on their own). When 4 o'clock rolled around, we accompanied the children outside the gate -- both those that walk home on their own because they live so close to us, and those whose older sisters had come to pick them up. Everything seemed fine. When everyone had gone, we went back into the house. About an hour later, J's mom showed up to fetch him. OH MY GOSH! Where was J? I didn't even remember walking out of the gate with him. My heart sunk. Where could he have gone? Why didn't he wait with us if his mom wasn't there? How could I have forgotten that his mom was coming to get him? He was definitely missing. We were able to reach the two moms of the group of kids that left on foot with the two older sisters, but J was not with them. Luckily, we had taken some photos that day and J was in two of the photos. I went around the university area with Lusajo, showing the photo. Some kids in the stadium said that they had seen a small boy crying on a nearby path and then saw him again with a man. In the States, this type of information would not bode well! Nobody else had seen the boy, not even the security people at the university gate. In the meantime, we sent the mom home in a taxi in the hopes that somebody would have found J and located his home. Unfortunately, his mom doesn't have a phone so there was no easy way for us to keep in contact with her. We just had to wait for news. Lusajo called the police station, but J was not there. So we waited... and waited... and waited (as the sun went down and I thought of J walking around, lost in the dark). Monika's departure was getting closer and closer. I was beside myself. Then the phone rang. It was J's mom -- a man had found him and managed to locate where he lived. I really can't express in words the feelings that went through me then and that still go through me now when I think of what happened. I learned many lessons that day.
 
Kwaheri,
Victoria

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You are what you eat?

I thought I'd write a bit today about the food here in Tanzania. There are no big supermarkets in Moshi, where I live -- just small local "mom & pop" grocery stores. A couple of them are known for carrying "mzungu" (white person) products, such as yogurt, cheddar cheese, Cadbury milk chocolate, bran flakes, cornflakes, granola (and other cereals), Marmite, Pringles and the like. Things like olive oil are extremely expensive, so, after finishing the two miniature bottles I brought with me from Spain (from the takeaway cafe near work), I've now resorted to regular vegetable oil (not the same, but without a salary for 4 1/2 months, I need to be a bit more careful!). So far, after one month here (yes, already!), my staples at Aleem's grocery seem to be red wine (usually from South Africa), taro chips (like potato chips but made out of the taro root and with less oil), crackers, bran flakes, butter (most Tanzanians use something between margarine and vegetable fat), and cheddar cheese. We get our milk from the local shack (see the photo of Lusajo wearing sunglasses -- he standing in front of the shack) right outside our house. Every couple of mornings I go there with my plastic pitcher and the woman who owns the shack fills it for me. Since it's straight from the cow, we have to boil it for 5 minutes (we also boil our water before drinking it). I haven't seen any pasteurized/homogenized milk in the stores here. You can get UHT milk in the "mzungu" grocery stores, but it's quite expensive -- and why get zapped milk if you can get it fresh??!! At the shack I can also buy white bread, all different kinds of soap (for bodies or clothing), toilet paper, eggs, donuts, and other various items. Behind the shack is another shack but this one is called a container. There one can buy sugar, rice, and other stuff. Everyone buys veggies and fruits either from local stands or from the outdoor market. Of course, if you're a mzungu like me, your bound to get ripped off. I guess you really can't blame the locals -- they're so poor, it's one of the only ways they can make a bit more money. Still, I've asked Monika and Lusajo for "acceptable" prices to pay so that I'm not completely taken advantage of. I have yet to venture into the market on my own--yes, still, after 1 month--hence I just pay the prices that Monika pays, which is still more than a local would pay but less than a tourist). Every day I feel closer to taking that step into the "lion's den" (i.e. the market) by myself. I will get there, I know it. My usual market purchases are tomatoes (you can only buy the "plum" variety), cucumbers (like the kind in the U.S.--i.e., smooth skinned--and not the kind in Spain which have bumpy skin), carrots (huge), and bananas (the miniature variety). However, every once and a while I get a little more adventurous and I buy, for instance, lentils, green pepper, mandarin oranges or regular oranges (which both have tons of pits). At the market one can also by white rice, split peas, a whole range of beans--most of which I don't know the names for--various grains (I think the locals make flour out of them) and stuff I have no idea what it is. I only have to prepare breakfast and lunch for myself -- dinner is "on the house". Which brings me to our evening meals...Until this past week, Monika had been the sole dinner cook, but that changed as of last Monday. It is now a former Give A Heart To Africa School student--I'll call her "M" to keep her anonymous--who prepares our meals since Monika will be going home to Canada for two months in a week's time. "M" has cooked for the house before, but there were some issues -- like not arriving on time, not coming with sufficient ingredients to cook for the number of people living in the house, and making meals that were not very appetizing (sounds promising?). The thing is, "M" has been repeatedly beaten by her husband. Not that long ago, he broke her leg, though I don't know how it happened. She finally moved out of the house (a big deal here, since people are very religious Christians and believe "until death do us part") and moved in with her brother who's a pastor at a local church, sending her only son (12-13 years old) to live with his grandmother in the south of the country, since she was afraid for him. Now, however, some big-wig white priest/pastor (her brother's superior, I believe) told her she couldn't stay with her brother in the church and had to move back home to be with her husband (until death do them part...). So, now she's back with him. She said that things were bad and she's afraid. Monika decided to give her another chance to cook for us to help her make some money and get out of her situation. She will will give her the bus money in September to go visit her son, whom she hasn't seen for more than a year and who is refusing to go to school. I'm glad to report that, so far, "M" is coming on time and the cooking is pretty good. Last night's meal was delicious -- ugali (like a thick polenta, made from corn flour and water), cabbage, and spinach. Tanzanians eat ugali with their hands and use it to scoop up whatever is accompanying it. Since "when in Rome do as the Romans" I followed Lusajo's example (Monika continues to eat with her fork). You have to make a ball with the ugali in your hand, then flatten it a bit (all the time using only the one hand) and use it to scoop up the other stuff -- a bit messy, but fun (in my opinion). The night before last, we had rice with orange-colored split peas (not very interesting). Usually, we have either rice, potatoes, or ugali along with any variety of veggies and or beans or other "legumes" (lentils, split peas, etc.). The standard veggies seem to be any mix including one or more of the following: zucchini, eggplant, tomatoes, carrots, peas (fresh), cabbage, and string beans. I'm trying to introduce the idea of something similar to pumpkin, which they have in the market. Last week we had cabbage pasta! If you haven't yet guessed, much to Lusajo's regret, Monika is a vegetarian and does not cook with meat (looking at the meat hanging up in the market, I don't blame her!). Lusajo and I tried to convince Monika to put french fries on the menu (very popular here and known as "chips" like in England) with choice of either eggs or chicken (a traditional dish here), but we were voted down. Once a week we eat dinner at one of the little shacks on the university campus (our house is on campus) -- Monika, Lusajo, Petro (our Maasai nightwatchman), and me. The guys always get the same (with their fill of meat) and the gals always get the same (rice, spinach, and beans -- like baked beans, but not sweet). I think the 4 of us eat for under 3 or 4 euros in total!

Thanks to all of you who post comments! I love hearing from you and will eventually get around to writing you individual emails.

Kumbatia (hugs),
Victoria

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Home Visit

Last Friday we had a home visit of another of our female students. When I say "we" I mean Monika, Ima, Herman (also known as "Rasta"), and I. Ima and Herman are translators at our school and Herman is one of my Swahili teachers. We always go with translators because, despite the classes, most of the students still have trouble speaking English!! This student is 43 years old and has 8 children; the oldest is 23 and the youngest is 3! The 3-year old, Glory, had a broken arm, but that didn't stop her from dancing to the music that was playing on the TV and running around outside. (By the way, it seems that everyone here who has a TV always has it turned on, especially when visitors come! Sometimes, it's so loud we can hardly hear ourselves talk!). Glory was truly beautiful. The eldest child, John, stayed with us during the visit. He goes to university, where he studies human resources. He spoke very good English and you could tell from his behavior and from that of all of the children that the family was a happy one and very united.  Our student never had the chance to go to secondary school but heard about our school and is now a student. We met at least 5 of the kids when we were at the house, as well as the husband, who is a policeman (many of our students are married to policemen since there is police housing in the area and former students spread the word to their neighbors about the Give A Heart To Africa school). The husband said he was so happy that his wife now had the opportunity to go to school. It was great to hear him say that. John also told his mom how proud he was of her. His mom started to cry when we asked her if she likes school. She was so grateful to have the opportunity to go to school, finally. I almost started crying myself! Whenever we do a home visit we bring something with us. This time we brought clothing for the youngest child (from the donations from my office in Madrid -- gracias!), plus some sugar and rice. The student always considers the visit as a big honor and, consequently, there is always a lot of food on the table. This time was no exception, and I was able to eat fish for the first time since I arrived. We also had freshly roasted peanuts, rice, veggies (not sure what type), and watermelon and bananas for dessert.

A little bit of this...a little bit of that

It's Friday, my day off, and I managed to "sleep in" this morning until 7:15am. Last night I counted how many times the roosters thought it was time to wake me up -- three times, starting at about 1:15am. Will I ever get used to them? This morning we did a house visit of one of the female students. She's 40 years old, married to a policeman, and has 4 daughters (the eldest is 16 and the youngest, whom we met, is 2). Apparently, she comes from a tribe in southern Tanzania where it is accepted (and expected) for men to beat their wives. When we asked Herman, one of the school's translators who was with us, if he thought that her husband beat her, he told us yes, since that's the norm for them. Monika asked me try to find out by using the topic of "marriage" in one of our conversation sessions (every Thursday). The student's three eldest children go to school, but she never had the chance as a child. She told us that coming to school has changed her way of thinking. She is so happy to be a student at our school now. She hopes to start a cement business once she leaves school (end-September; the course is just for 6 months), since that's what her family used to do. She is working on the business plan in class (the students take English, computer, and business classes at the school).

Everyday I tell myself "I must remember 'this' to talk about in my blog," and then I end up forgetting to do it. Here are a couple of things I've neglected to tell you...

Taking the daladala
Daladalas are minivans (like the old Volkswagen type) that act as group taxis. It costs 250 Tanzanian shillings (15 euro cents) to go from Moshi town to Ushirika where I live. The idea is to stuff as many people in as you can -- you'd be amazed\; I am. Just when you think they couldn't possibly let anyone else in, they do! And the person always fits. Well, "fits" is relative. I haven't done an actual count, but there must be at least 20 of us sardines squeezed together during "rush hour", and not only on the seats. At least four people are always standing. But standing where? There is no standing room! Somehow they manage, however. Monika and I usually try for a seat on the bench right behind the driver -- that way we're sure to be able to get off (which isn't a given if you're sitting in the back). Sitting down is like a puzzle. You have to try to fit your legs in between those of the person in front of you. I haven't yet braved a daladala by myself. I think I'll know that I've really acclimated myself to life here when I can brave it on my own!

Petro, our Maasai nightwatchman
He arrives at 6:30pm every evening and leaves the next morning at 6:30am. He speaks no English and only a little Swahili. Ever since I greeted him with " Supai!" (the typical greeting in, Maa, the Maasai language) and paraded in front of him with my Maasai outfit, we are friends, though we never understand each other. I have an entire list of Maa vocabulary with the English translations, which I saved from my last trip to Tanzania when I spent a week in a Maasai village (including phrases such as "How are your cows" and "The goats are fine"). When I showed this to Petro, he wanted a copy. Now I'll have to see if he starts asking me in English how my cows are doing! Petro's favorite activity is to try to ride Monika's bike. He had just started learning when I arrived and is doing really well. He rides round and round the little square in front of the school (which is attached to the house) all night long. I think I can hear the wheels from my bedroom. The bike has become his best friend. One afternoon, I was in the house on my own and didn't think to lock the front gate. Monika came home and noticed the gate open and told me it would be safer to lock it when I'm alone at home. Then she noticed that the bike was gone! It's always kept in the little square in front of the school. Horror of horrors, it was not there! How could I have been so stupid! I felt horrible. I didn't remember seeing it when I came home, and then thought that perhaps Lusajo had taken it to go into town, since he had come home while I was there and then left again. But Monika said that was unlikely. She was really calm about it all, but I felt like crying. A little voice in my head had told me when I came home that I should lock the gate, but I didn't listen to it. Now look what I caused! Monika went back to Lusajo's store and I sat on the couch and stewed, feeling more and more dejected and wondering where I was going to be able to find another bike like hers! Then Petro arrived!! How was I going to break the news to him that his best friend was gone?  What would he do all night long now? When he arrived, I took out the English-Swahili dictionary and tried to explain -- not an easy task! I think he was just as devastated as I was. The two of us just sulked. Later on, Lusajo arrived and opened the door saying "Pole sana" (I'm so sorry). I thought he was referring to the bike and was just about to tell him how horrible I felt when he said that he was sorry that I was left all alone in the house!!!! Then I asked him if he had taken the bike into town and he said YESSSSSSS!!!!!!!! Hallelujah! Petro and I were the happiest beings on Earth!


Asante sana (thank you very much) for your comments!

Kumbatia (hugs),
Victoria

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