Ignorance exposed : An American’s mindset flipped upside down

When we landed in Arusha, it literally felt like I had been transported in a photo shoot from National Geographic. There is something incredibly surreal about walking around the TCDC compound and having monkeys scamper across the path directly in front of me. As amazing as the experience was, I am very thankful that it was arranged in the manner that it was. I recognize the time and effort that was put into the schedule and the order of events, and as I look at my entire experience, all the different elements of the orientation really prepared me for the rest of my time in Tanzania.

Steven Ndosi
There is so much to say about this amazing individual. Steven was our guide during the first few weeks that we were in the Arusha area, in July. Among the many capacities that he serves, one of them is as a spokesperson of sorts - commenting on political issues and decisions that are made in Tanzania. For someone who has had the sort of face time on television as he has, he is an incredible humble person. Even in the states, my experience has been that even the local newscasters tend to sort of have an elevated status. That is not something that I noticed in Steven, and it really warmed my heart.

He spoke so passionate to us about his country, and despite the obvious frustrations that he has with the corruption, he was so positive and emotional. I think to the United States, and how outspoken and hateful some many people come across while criticizing the government. Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with freedom of speech, and I believe that it is necessary for people to be vocal in their frustrations with the governments of the their country, but Steven was eloquent in his frustrations in a way that I rarely see today in the States. Granted, it is an election season, and that makes everyone’s tensions run high, but that is no excuse not to be creative and civil and concise.

Steven not only gave us a political history of his beloved nation, he also gave us a lesson in intense patriotism. Even without specifically talking about patriotism, or his sense of being a Tanzanian, he introduced us to the mindset that I encountered so many more times over my three-month experience. As Tanzanians tell us about their country, it is their country. They know that theirs is not the wealthiest of nations, but they take an immense amount of pride in their accomplishments. When learning about their nation’s history in primary school, I hear the pride in the instructors’ voices, even when I can barely understand the language - Kiswahili. Steven gave me an insight to his commitment not only to his immediate community, but also to the country as a whole, and spoke so passionately it made me feel ashamed not to possess the same devotion.

Peace House

I think the experience that unsettled me the most during our two week orientation was the tour of the Peace House. It is a school that was built several years ago, to house and educate orphans, selected by a committee. It is entirely funded by foreign donations. The school, without a doubt, was fantastic. The generous donations really mean a lot to each of the lives of those young men and women who had been given the gift of an incredible educational opportunity. But that basic and underlying fact aside, there were several things that bothered me, and I made myself think long and hard about why exactly they unsettled me.

The biggest problem I had with the whole idea of the school is that it targets orphans. In my experience, Americans have this romanticized, dramatic idea of who orphans are. So a group of sponsors from the USA come together and donate and fundraise to build a western school in the middle of Tanzania, and then select only orphans to be brought to this school to learn.

It seemed so backward. Why take children away from the people who have been raising them, making them even more of outsiders, and bring them to a school where they are treated differently specifically because they are orphans? As soon as they graduate from secondary school, they will go – where? They don’t have the connections that a child growing up in a village or town would have. They don’t have the relationships or the contacts. They were removed from that opportunity by the very people who were trying to help them. Now, I’m not saying that this reinforces the old adage, “the road to hell is paved with good intentions,’ I’m simply trying to point out that this is a very American idea being thrust into a very non-American place.

Gemma and Lesikar

So often, people talk of ‘globalization’ but what they really mean is ‘westernization’. This is something that a lot of my pre-departure readings discussed – the idea that simply because something is not similar to the way the ‘west’ does things, it is therefore inferior, backwards, inadequate, antiquated.

This is something that Gemma spoke at great lengths about during our different opportunities to meet with her. emma and her husband were exceedingly welcoming to us, to their home in Monduli and in Lesikar's father's boma.

New products appear on our shelves every few weeks. There are new ‘must-haves’ and ‘can’t-live-without-this’ offers coming out of the radio, television, newspapers, magazines, and Internet. If things are not changing and becoming flashier and fancier, than they simply aren’t good enough.

But that philosophy does not hold so firm in other parts of the world. I spoke with several Tanzanians who, when given the choice, prefer to buy things used. Why? “Because they are still good.” Things don’t lose their value as they are used – they gain value. Items remain valuable even after there is visible wear-and-tea. This is a mindset that is essential non-existent in too many social circles in the United States. People actually pay more to buy their clothes ripped, stained, scratched, and frayed. I don’t understand it – I know many of the Tanzanians I talked to don’t really get it either. The concept of buying clothes and wearing them out until they get to that states? It would make more sense, at least to me, personally.

----

As the saying goes, ignorance is bliss. Ignorance is also easy. Tolerance is simple and takes little effort. Understanding, comprehension, learning, expanding one’s boundaries and comforts zones – those things are uncomfortable. Breaking stereotypes and deliberately removing one’s self from their support structures? That can be down right painful. But the benefits and knowledge that I’ve gained through this experience is worth it.

Untitled

I have been thinking a lot lately, about a number of things. One: Frustrations, and how we let them go until all of a sudden we see that they have simply raged out of control. And then there is nothing we can do about them but let them rage. Two: Ice melting. I have always enjoyed that image, water dripping, ice melting...And then it hit me this afternoon - those two things have more in common than simply crossing my brain in the same hour.

Think about this: Water, ice, drips from a roof or a branch or an overpass. As it drips, all of those little bits of water are frustrations and anger that we let dwell in out minds or in our hearts and do not acknowledge. But eventually, the weather turns cold, and all that water that has dripped down freezes solid. Then, some unsuspecting poor fool comes along and steps just right and finds themselves flat on their back with a severe lack of oxygen in their chest. And what can they do but wait until they can breath again. No way to force air back into their chest, no way to speed it up, just wait. That is sorta the way that I see frustrations like this affecting myself and those closest and dearest to me. Someone will come along at just the wrong moment, and slip onto my frustrations like a patch of black ice. And before they can grab hold of something to steady them, the full brunt of all those pent up angers and frustrations land them on their back, barely able to understand how they got there.

I am not excusing my lack of enthusiasm lately or my apparent disinterest in the goings on around me. I am not justifying my personality flaws. I just am marveling at the similarity between such a seemingly beautiful image and a potential broken hip.

A lot has happened over the past few weeks. One month ago, I had a really severe scare in my dorm room at UDSM. As a result, my program pulled me out, and brought me back to the states. Today, I am back at Luther College, struggling to find my place among the people I know and love, but who can't understand the context from which I have so recently returned. On the other side of the world, the girls that I love so much are still in Tanzania, struggling to know their place on a University campus that used to be so bustling with life, overflowing with loud, cheerful students. Now, due to the riots of last week, those students have all be evicted, and all that is left are foriegn students. I can't imagine the alien feeling that the now silent campus must have for the amazing men and women that I got to know this fall. And now I hear that Mandi, a student at the U in MN, she has been pulled from her program as well - someone so brave as to commit herself for a whole academic year in Tanzania is now back in the states, readjusting and reaclimating herself to life in the states.

Things are overwhelming here. I feel torn everytime I start enjoying myself here in the states because I feel like I should be back with Sara and Siri and Liz and the Eriks and the beautiful Canadian girls.....I feel frustrated everytime I pass someone on the sidewalk and call out, 'Hello' when what wants to naturally come out of my mouth is 'Mambo!' "Habari za asubuhi?' and 'Hamjambo!' Not only is the weather rather fridged in comparison to the gorgeous heat of Dar, but the people are colder too. Smiles and greetings were as natural as breathing at UDSM - and I know Luther is considered a friendly campus, but something still feels lacking.

I don't know what else to express. I pray for the LCCT group, that they have these last four weeks be filled with joy and deep experiences.

Thoughts from an eloquent man

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/22425001/vp/27652443#27652443

Essentially, he says all that my heart has been struggling to express. Thank you, Adam, for posting this.

If you feel driven, please respond.

October Update

Classes started! Wahoo!! 

I had my first actual lecture today.  Classes have finally (sort of) started, and I just left my Race, Class and Ethnicity course [Sociology 377] and I was surprised by a number of things.  One: The lecturer is really quite young.  She never really gave us an introduction, so I don’t really know how old she is, but she seems like she is late 20s, early 30s.  She never even told us her name, so all I can refer to her as is ‘the lecturer.’ She dressed more casually than even some of the foreign students were.  I must admit, when she first entered the room and walked up to the stage and set some books and papers there, I assumed that she was assisting the professor by bringing his things to the room in advance.  When she opened the text and began speaking, I was not alone in being a little startled and slightly embarrassed by thinking that she was a student or assistant.  Two: She was quite firm about the fact that if a student in the lecture hall could not take an active part in the class, then that student should find a new class to be in.  Class participation, expressing one’s self orally, whether through volunteering an answer or asking a question or giving a summary of the previous class, would be a necessary part of the class.  Three: She spoke about the general goal of the class as being to discuss how race, class, and ethnicity affect societies around the word, and then proceeded to ask questions that were very specific to Tanzania.  We (Sara, Siri, and I) struggled to know how to respond because although we wanted to be able to participate in the class, to answer questions about Tanzanian culture was very uncomfortable for us.  We have been here for a little over two months now, and know a fair amount about the culture and the people, but by no means did I fee comfortable answer the questions.  Here is the dilemma and I see it – if I answer the question incorrectly, I am a foolish foreigner that isn’t willing to take the time to learn about the country I am living in.  If I answer correctly, I am afraid I’ll appear snobbish or snotty, answer question about the very people sitting around me in the class when this is their culture, their home, their people.  In the end, I decided it was better for me to just take avid notes, pay close attention to the lecturer, and hope that eventually I am comfortable enough with my understanding of Tanzania’s culture to speak up during class.

Update about September!

Hello hello! I apologize to my family, as this is a big repeat of the massive email you've all recently received, but I figured this was the most efficient way to update everyone. As I haven't written for a while, there's a lot to catch up on, and I also apologize about the length.

We finished our Kiswahili course on the 30^th of August. After that, I sort of dropped off the face of the earth, as far as blog entries and emails go – sorry about that. We had all sort of mutually decided that we would take the first part of September and travel around the country before classes started on the 15^th. Well, it is the 29^th today, and I haven’t seen any classes yet! But the traveling was amazing.

Chris Waters from St. Olaf and Bryanna Plog from Pacific Lutheran traveled with me up into the northwestern corner of Tanzania (see attached map). Chris has lived here in Tanzania 4 times now, with his family. He still has a lot of family friends living, here, and they invited him up north, and we decided to come along.

Our first stop was Mwanza (on the shores of Lake Victoria), where we received an incredible amount of hospitality from a little 68 year old woman. We stayed in Mwanza for a few days, and then moved on to Ngara. (Sorry if these comments seem brief, I’ve got a lot to say but don’t want to bore you!! There will be blog posts elaborating)

Ngara is so small even today that it does not appear on most maps and certainly does not appear in any of our guide books. Yet it is an amazing and important place of East Africans. Chris’s father was hired to work here, in the Rwandan refugee camps from 1994 until 1996. Chris was about 7 years old, and lived in Ngara, a beautiful little village that help maintain the largest refugee camps in the nation. As we bumped along the road up and down hills, Chris could barely take his eyes away from the landscape. The hills that used to house millions of refugees are now green and flourishing. The camps he remembers from his childhood are all but gone, only 2 very small ones remaining out of the dozen that used to blanket the hills. Once we arrived in Ngara, we were taken to a guest house that is in the same neighborhood as where Chris used to live. Lo and behold, the home we were taken to IS his old house! It was fantastic. This 6 foot tall, 200 pound guy was scampering about, finding all the little things that he remembered. He was thrilled beyond belief. After calming down a bit, he brought me and Bryanna to the back of the property, where we could see huge hills in the distance. “That’s Rwanda,” he pointed to our right, “and that’s Burindi, to the left. And that...” squinting into the mist that covered the hills, we could just make out a layer of mountain behind the hills of Burindi, “that on a clear day would be the Congo.”

From Ngara we moved to Kibondo, where I was able to sample the nation’s fine regional hospital. That’s right, I can’t even go across the world without causing some medical mishap. Let me tell you, my mother was thrilled that I still needed her on the other side of the world. Long story short: I had my wisdom teeth out in June. A little piece o tooth was still in my socket on my lower right side, and for some odd reason, it caused no trouble until I was in the remotest corner of Tanzania. Brilliant. My whole right side of my face went numb and swelled up with infection, and of course, I freaked. Through calls home and a wonderful dental technician, I managed to get what I needed in Kibondo to keep everything under control. Amoxicillin, salt water, and a syringe with a little tube attached, to squirt water in the hole where in infection lay. When I went to pay for the syringe, I was told it was not necessary. “This is Africa,” he said. “We have plenty of syringes. Karibu tena, dada.” (Welcome again, sister).

We moved on to Kigoma(on the shores of Lake Tanganyka) ) the next day, and I visited another hospital, got a head xray to try to find the tooth fragment and determined that yes indeed, Papa, I have rocks in my head. (again, see attached photos). No tooth was found, but I got to keep the x-ray! The technician apologized eloquently for the high cost, and seemed embarrassed when I had to pay my bill. Cost of the x-ray? 5,000/= Tanzania shillings. That converts to about $4.42.

After I finished with my hospital fun, we bought our train tickets back to Dar and found that we had two days to wait before the train left. Se we investigated how much it would cost to go to Ngombe Stream, the National Park where Jane Goodall did her chimp research. For foreigners, the cost is $300. Expats pay $40 and citizens pay about $12. We, being students with residency permits, managed to land the expat fee, which was fantastic. The chimps were incredible, but it was a terrifying experience. We managed to pick the one day of the month that the entire chimp family (40 full grown, about 15 immature) were together, hunting. Let me say that again...they were hunting little red monkeys, flying through the trees, charging at us until the realized we were MUCH bigger than they are, and all around making an intensely loud racket. They got so close I could have kissed them, not that I would want to!

We survived the chimp experience, and made our way back to Dar by train, which was a really interesting ride. There was a young nun traveling in the compartment with Bryanna and I, and although she is a Tanzania, she speak fluent Spanish!! It was incredible – we chatted in Spanish for almost the whole 3 day ride, which severely annoyed one of the women in the compartment. She came in on the second day, rearranged everyone so that she had the most comfortable spot, gave her little baby to me to take care of, and liked asking us complicated question is Kiswahili that obviously we could not answer. As soon as we did manage to answer one, she’d ask another and another until we exhausted our limited language skills. So to be having fun speaking another language? Totally not allowed.

The rest of the trip went well until Chris’s backpack was stolen out of this compartment as he slept. He literally used one bag for a pillow, and slept curled around the other, but the thief was able to get the smaller one which contained glasses, cell phone, money, passport, visa, academic journal, and malaria medication. To top it all off, it was Chris’s 20^th birthday that day. He was in good spirits though, but the rest of the trip did seem very long.

Once we were back in Dar on the 11^th, we found out that classes would not be starting until the 29^th – my birthday. Wahoo. I actually was really bummed, as I cannot wait to start classes here. So we contacted another family friend of Chris’s who had offered to let us come join her in the mountains for a week. Mama Macha is a 60 year old woman (from Seattle!) who married a Chaga man (the tribe the lives on and around Kilimanjaro) and has lived in Tanzania since she was 25. She lives just off campus, but has a home where her late husband grew up, outside of Moshi, in a small village called Morri, that has the most amazing view of both Mount Meru and Mount Kilimanjaro. By the 12^th, all 10 of us had returned to Dar, and we began planning to go up to Morri for the week.

From the 16th until the 22^nd, we stayed up in the mountains. It was incredible. I’ve seen friendliness and kindness all throughout Tanzania, but it was nothing like was I experienced in Morri. The women helped up cook and carry water and wash without laughing (usually kindly) at us like the women here in Dar so love to do. Everyday we hiked around to a different side of the hills hat Morri is nestled between, and on the 18^th we drove to the gates of the National Park , the entrance through which the climber pass through to go up Kili. We, needless to say, did not climb, though some in my group dearly wish to. I....well, knowing me and my bad luck, I think that climbing ....well, knowing me and my bad luck, I think that climbing any mountain would be inviting too much trouble to come and settle itself around me like a rain cloud. I was more that satisfied just by looking at the peak, which was breathtaking. (pictures included)

We left Morri and traveled back to Dar, and have sort of been hanging around lately. I chatted with a philosophy professor that I have gotten to know, and he let me know that lecturers and professors might be striking this semesters. Yes, that’s right. Classes might not start at all. If that is the case, I think I might cry, but at least I will have a lot of time to travel.

I’ll try to answer a few questions that I’ve received about the university and life living on campus. The university is about the size of the UMD campus and is situated on a hill (which means we get a fantastic breeze on stiflingly hot days). There are about 10,000 students here, only about 2,000 of which are women. This ratio is uncomfortable for us a lot of the time, because not only do we attract attention because we are white, but then the 9 women in my group get extra attention simply because there aren’t a lot of women here at all. I live in the only female dorm, Hall III, which has four sections. There are 6 other dorm buildings, all obviously occupied by men.

The food here is interesting, mostly rice with beans, chicken, peas, meat, or local variation of spinach...or in Kiswahili, that would be wali na maharage, kuku, njegere, nyama, ou mchicha. I can switch the rice with ugali (think really think cream of wheat that you eat with your fingers) or viazi (boiled potatoes). My favorite meal for lunch is viazi na kokoto, which is a beef stew with carrots, tomatoes, local spinach, and peppers, sometimes with onions, all poured over potatoes. There is a lot of fresh fruit, machungas, parachichi, matango, na ndizi (oranges, avocado, cucumbers, and bananas). Breakfast usually consists of a banana and chapati, thin fried bread that is really good with a sliced banana or a little peanut butter. Chai (Tea) is served al day, and Tanzanians drink it very very hot. This never makes sense to me, since it is so humid and hot out already.

I think that is about it for now! Today classes were supposed to start, but I really don't think anyone has any classes today. We have been hearing rumors that professors ma be striking (great) and that classes never really get going until the middle of October or even November. Yeah...it could be interesting. There might be a lot more traveling stories and not very many school stories in my blog entries.

I hope you are all doing well!!

One month later....

I am so sorry I haven't had much time to write these past few weeks. Between an immense and marvelous amount of traveling, student orientation, and this past week on living on the slopes on Mount Kilimanjaro, computer access has been practically nonexistent. But! I am back on campus now, for the majority on my remaining 3 months here in Tanzania.

I start classes on my birthday, (next Monday) and register for classes two weeks later. Yes, I know that doesn't make sense, but this is Tanzania, people. The laws of physics don't even apply here, believe me.

As soon as academic journals, newspaper articles, and my project proposal are finished and turned in, several lengthy posts will appear. In the mean time, I'll hold you all in suspense just a bit longer.

August 27th - marriage, my students, and upcoming independant travel

Marriage:

No, no, I am not getting married. Ha! I've had offers, and amusing as they are, that particular topic has both a humorous and a rather serious side. Today in Kiswahili, we discussed how to conjugate verbs to put them in the passive tense. This brought up a subject that we have touched on, but did not go too terribly in depth on - the verb 'oa.' 'Oa' means for a man to marry a woman. In order to talk about a woman's marriage, you must say that she is 'being married' or 'getting married.' This is not the case for the man - he is the one doing the marrying.

Now, I don't want people to get all up in arms and start getting frustrated with how this whole Tanzanian society must be so discriminatory towards women through and through. This is not the case. But things are different here. The difference in the verbs is not malicious or cruel - it is the language, and, as our teacher, Pendo, reminds us quite often, 'Kiswahili is a young language.'

My students:

I have a standard 6 class of boys and girls at the local Mlimani Primary School, who are delightful. The more time i spend with them, he better my kiswahili gets, and the better thier English (or their boldness in class) gets. I'm glad. I don't mind if they chatter a bit as they do the lessons that I set for them - Their punctuation is getting better and better. I don't really mind if they giggle when I call on them to answer - at least they are answering, and answering in English. I don't mind at all that my teacher never comes to the room while I am teaching - she is of the opinion that since I don't smack the kids, I must not be doing an effective teaching job.

She came up to me the second day that I was teaching, and wanted to know if I would be smacking the children. I responded with a very firm, 'No,' and she did not look surprised. She then told me that hitting the children is the only way to control a class of 60, and that hitting thier wrists when they get answers wrong on their excersies helps them to study harder the next time. She offered me her 'stick' (for lack of a better term) which set back down on her desk and assured her that her students were so well behaved that I would certianly never need the use it. She looked skeptical. [By the way, I refer to her as 'she' or 'my teacher' because the only name that she has given me to call her was 'Madam,' and it is slightly odd to be writting that, leet alone trying to call her that.] Since that day, she has occasionally stuck her head into the class, but mostly she just sits in the teachers room with the other 'Madams.' I'm pretty ok with it, though, as the students seem to be much more willing to try answering questions when she is not walking around wacking them.

Upcoming travel:

At the end of this week, when out Kiswahili class ends, the whole LCCT group is spiliting off and traveling around Tanzania for about twelve days. Chris, Bryanna and I are heading to the northeast, to Mwanza, Ngara, Kibondo, and Kigoma before catching a train and returning to Dar but the 12th of September. We have out International Student Orientation on the 13th and 14th, and then classes were supposed to start then, but they have been pushed back until the 29th (my birthday, yay!). After the orientation, we will be heading north again, the whole group this time, to stay at Mama Macha's home in Moshi. She is a wonderful family friend of Chris's when he and his family used to live here in Dar. She lives on the side of Kilimanjaro, and has a beautiful veiw of both Kili and Mt Meru as the sun rises and sets....so that is going to be an amazing trip.


Lots of thoughts, I know. Sorry for the somewhat jumbled nature of it all...I will probably be coming back and revising it later, but this will be the last long post until about the 16th.

August 19th - Meeting, greeting, WHEATing, laughing, and being a mzungu

Ben Durbin - I have been thinking about one of our last conversations before I left, and figured that it was about time I touched on this subject...For those of you who do not know what 'wheating' is, the title might be a bit confusing. It is something that Ben and Kim, our lovely youth directors at FLC in Duluth, introduced to the leadership team and the fish force. Without going into too many details, it is a way to get to know someone, a complete stranger, without having to seem cheesy or false. And let me tell you, Tanzanians are naturals at this. EVERYONE knows someone who knows someone who traveled to the same place as you last week and probably walked the same streets.
Everyone here has something in common with one another, and if they don't see it right away, soon they've figured it out. They are some of the warmest and most caring people I've ever met. It is only natural to talk for twenty minutes with a soccer player down on the pitch that you have never met before. It doesn't matter that I won't remember his name or that he won't remember mine. It makes total sense to joke and laugh with the man behind the counter, even if I barely speak his language, and he barely speaks mine - he is there everyday, and know that we get the same thing everyday, and laughs about it. Silly Americans, they sure love their beans and rice - and it is sooo good. The woman I buy fruit from every few days - always throws in an extra chungwa (orange) and hopes that I'll come back (which I always do). We chat, she laughs as I try to pronounce the names of the vegetables and fruits, and always laughs when she tries to talk to me in English. It isn't a jeering laugh, it is beautiful and warming and lets us both know that we've got something so basic in common as sharing a joke.
Sometimes it feels so lonely here, being so obvious and so unable to hide or blend in. But the majority of the time, I don't mind. The majority of the time, I am able to make connections and meet people that I otherwise would never be able to. Someone said to me the other day that this must be a blessing in disguise - all these relationships and smiles. Blessing? Yes indeed, but with no need for a disguise. The joy with which people live their lives here is astounding and beautiful and so evident to anyone who takes the time to notice.

August 15th -

August 13th

Jambo


The greeting itself
does not seem particularly specific,
one can say
a wide variety of words.

Mambo

Just move your mouth.
and the end result is still the same.
The important thing is
that you say something.

A greeting means,
‘I see you.’
It means,
‘you exist,’
Tells a stranger that
‘you are a human being
And
I acknowledge you.’

Habari gani

At first, to me,
the greeting -
so superficial and incomplete!
as I have been here,
it becomes a comfort,
warm -
slowly turns beautiful.

Yes, I’m white.
Yes, I’m a woman
on a university campus
dominated by men.
But to them
I am still human,
I am still worth something.
Gone is the privileged lifestyle
assumptions
labels
stereotypes
just for that moment
I am still seen.
I am still here.
I still exist.
Jambo.

August 11th - Mlimani Primary School

I went to kswahili class today and then had a little lunch and walked down to Mlimani Primary school, the place where I will be teaching for the next few months. I talked to my teacher, and she and I agreed that I would just observe today, so that way I could see how that class was run. Halfway through the first part of the lesson, however, she indicates and I should stand up andsays , "Sarah will be teaching a song and punctuation now." I thought that she had said 'Sarah will be teaching a song about punctuation"and I started panicking because I couldn't think of any - all that was coming to mind were School House Rock songs, but I didn't really think that would work.....finally it came to me what she had said, and so I taught them 'head shoulders knees and toes' which , even though they are 10-14 year olds, they LOVED it. Then 'Madam Sarah' told the class of 53 boys and girls all about 'full stops' (periods), commas, quotation marks, apostraphes, exclamation marks, and question marks. It went really well, even though I was totally winged it. I'll be teaching there acouple of days a week, basically whenever I have time. On Wednesday,and am teaching them how to write 'friendly' letters, or letter to and from friends. AND I'm teaching another song.....I'm thinking that Wednesday will be 'Are you sleeping Brother John.' I know that in a few languages thanks to Emily and Rachel going to Japan, I even know that one if them is Japanese! Anyway....it was a rather uneventful....Wendy, Kate, Stacey, Chris, and two random Tanzanian kids played World Cup for a while - that was fantastically fun...my ankle will hurt in the morning, but it was definitely worth it.

Yes, I'm still alive...

I know, I know, I sort of appeared to drop off the face of the Earth for a while, but truth be told, I have so many things that I am thinking about pertaining to my experiences here that it has become exceedingly difficult to write and express myself without appearing shallow, incomplete, or petty. I will continue to be authentic and honest about my thoughts, maintaining that it will be an incurably incomplete description of what I am learning.

Thoughts from the Ngorongoro Crater:

I’ve been thinking a lot about our trip to Ngorongoro crater as I’ve been talking to other LCCT participants about our thoughts on the experience so far. So far, I’ve been kind of coming up with a big metaphor as to our trip up to the crater, our day there, and what I am thinking some of the rest of my experience will be like. Certainly it will not be perfectly accurate, but they are a guess, and more importantly, they are what have been on my mind all day today.

I entered this program rather blindly. Sure, I’ll study abroad! Sure, I’ll go to Africa! Sure, I’ll enter a country where I do not know the language nor very much about the society! Optimism abounds. But I sort of had an idea as to where I was going, and that allowed me a few moments of calm when I actually got on the plane and started flying East. This is sort of like what driving up the side of the crater felt like. I had an idea about where I was going, I had a pretty good idea about what kinds of things were going to be there once I arrived, but I didn’t really know much more than that, and to top it all off, we could not see more that 8 feet in front of us during some parts of the trip. Talk about going in blindly!

Once we started learning about what the crater means to Tanzania as far as the tourism industry, grazing area for the Maasai and the politics behind that, and other facts, it became more than just a flippant, ‘oh sure, this would be fun,’ thought process. The same goes for what I was learning at TCDC and from Gemma. The more I was learning about Tanzania and the people here, the more I became aware of how important it was to value every moment that I am here, because my Western education provides a flimsy representation of the life here is actually like.

As we arrived at the top of the crater, we could finally start to see the place that we were headed. Then it became that much more real – I’m actually going to see zebras and lions and sweet stuff like that! We got off the plane and showed up at TCDC, we were actually in Tanzania, and I started to understand that my best friend is no longer a twenty minute drive away, my boyfriend and I won’t see each other for five months, and that if my Nana passes away while I’m here, I won’t be able to go home for the funeral. The fog lifted all around us, and we could see for miles and miles in every direction, and it was beautiful. My loved ones are at home, thousands of miles away, and although I won’t see them for five months, it isn’t too scary of a prospect as it was before.

The whole time that we were in the crater, it was amazingly beautiful, but we were still separated from what was outside of our window. There was a constant lens through which were viewing the animals, and there has been a constant lens through which we have been experiencing Tanzania as well. We are here, walking around and looking at everything, but we also know that in 5 months we are going home, which automatically limits our experience. Sitting and cradling children who have been orphaned by HIV/AIDS pains my heart, and it made me sick to my stomach to be grateful about leaving the nursery school.

On the way up out of the crater, we went to the hotel that costs 1,500 per night per person. I sort of think that my thoughts and disgust at my views of the hotel/resort is gong to be a lot of the same thoughts that I will have once I go back to the states. I know that I am already very critical about how much money I have spent while I’ve been here, and I know that I am gong to be even more critical of what money I spend from this point out simply because I am not earning anything these next 5 months. When I go home, especially because we are going home at Christmas time, I am pretty sure the materialism and frustration will be overwhelming.

July 28th and July 29th

Sorry that these aren't exactly on time. I'm doing my best to keep up with writing here, but with my personal handwritten journal, Letters to Alma, and acedemic journal for my professor, and entire blocks of time that we are no where near power let alone a computer, I fear I've fallen a bit behind. So the next few posts will be an attempt to catch up and fill all of you in on the wondrous things I'm taking part in.

On the morning of the 28th, we departed from TCDC to go to the Aang Serian office in Arusha. (Aang Serian is the NGO that is helping to promote/preserve cultural identity within areas that are struggling to do so.) There, they have a music program that allows young artists from the Arusha area to come and record their music. It was very loud and to the non-Swahili speaking ear sounded very Western. But after having the music translated for us, it became quite clear that these messages are nothing like what American hip-hop artists or rappers are singing about in their music.

This organization is run by two young men – and I kid you not when I tell you that there names are Freddy and Eddy. Eddy, or Edmund, helps recruit the young artists (or MCs as they called themselves) from the Arusha area. DIRA, as the program is called, equips the artists with a recoding studio, performing venues, the ability to distribute their cds, and a place to hang out, freestyle, get together, to talk about their music. Many of the songs have a very Western sound, like I said before, but the messages are distinctly Tanzanian/East African. One is about the political unrest in Kenya, and how the brunt of the pain and death fell on the shoulders of mothers and children. Another was about the frustration among young men and women, how hard it is for them to make a living, so they have to resort to moving away from their families to try and survive in the cities. Another was about the anger that artists have with the music industry, how so much of the profits go to the store selling the cd, or to the record company, so it becomes impossible for the MCs to make a living on their music even if it is good enough.

The office is housed right behind a giant mosque on Nairobi Street in downtown Arusha. Do the neighbors complain about the bass thumping and the baggy-jeaned youths that are hanging around the place? Not at all. The message of the music, the intent of the program, and the fact that none of the young people do drugs of any kind helps a lot. In fact, DIRA runs workshops and programs with young people in the area who are susceptible to getting involved with drugs, solely for the purpose of showing that there are other options for those hundreds of unemployed 20-year-olds.

After this introduction to the DIRA operation, we piled into our cars are drove four hours to the Ngorongoro crater. Well, we were actually staying just outside of the crater in a small village called Karatu. The Ngorongoro crater is the largest non-filled-in volcanic crater in the world. Very cool, very scary drive up there, though. Instead of trying to convey the coolness of it all, I’ll just post some pictures with brief explanations (but not right now, because the internet is slow). Basically, there are lions, cheetahs, wildebeests, zebra, cape buffalo, elephants, rhino, hyenas, servals, ostriches, hippos, Thompson and Grant gazelles, baboons, warthogs, and dozens of beautiful varieties of birds.

Sorry about the delay - here are some of the pictures!!!

July 27th (Day 5)

Hello folks. I'm cooped up with a pretty bad cold and a low grade fever, so while the group is off at church and home-visits, I'm here, listening to monkeys wrestle, and journaling.

Yesterday, we went to Peace House, a school specifically for children orphaned mainly by HIV/Aid. Only two of the dorms are full at this point, with approximately 200 children, half boys, half girls. Gina, the woman who gave us a tour, was very enthusiastic, telling us about the sources of funds, which had to be numerous, as the facility costs almost $50,000 every month. She showed us the girls dorm, leaving Chris outside, which was equipped with bunk beds, showers, sinks for washing, bathrooms, and an undeveloped courtyard that in future months, the children will get to help plan, plant, and care for. There is room for about 200 more students, but the other dorms are not yet finished. The children range from age 14 up to 18, as many start school late or never at all. Classes are taught in English, though lessons are explained in Kiswahili to those who do not speak any English upon entering the school. At this point in the conversation, Gina expressed her frustration with the fact that many students still use Kiswahili to socialize and chatter amongst themselves. She would like for English to be the primary language used consistently throughout Peace House. Here, I raised my eyebrow a bit at her attitude, and after talking to others on the ride to the Maasi village, I found I was not the only one who thought her comments where a bit ethnocentric. As she was talking about possibly forbidding the children to speak their tribal languages (usually their first) and Kiswahili, I instantly thought of Native American children, who, after being brought to schools, were forbidden to speak their native tongue with one another – if they did so, they were beaten. Granted, there is absolutely no corporal punishment at Peace House, but it still left a bad taste in my mouth.

From Peace House, we made our way up a long and very bumpy road to a small Maasi town called Monduli. The more we drove, the harsher the environment seemed. While at the Peace House, there were lush gardens, enormous green fronds of banana trees, and lots of other vegetation. But as we drove, the land turned dusty and dry, and vegetation became primarily varieties of cactus. We stopped in Monduli and bought water for the day, and Mama Lori treated us to some excellent biscuits that are popular treats in the area – coconut and chocolate. We continued driving, and as we drove further and further up the mountain to reach Monduli Juu ( juu meaning up, thus the village was Upper Monduli), the land once again turned green. Azizi, our charming driver, told us that there are panthers that live in these forests, though we saw none. Even with our skillful driver, the ride up the mountain was very bumpy, and very rough. We reached to top of the road, and the scene was spectacular. Fields of bright colored flowers, the blue and red clad Maasi villagers, and the brightness of the Maasi women’s jewelry starkly contrasted the tan and dusty color of the dry lake bed that made up most to their cattles grazing area.

We hoped out of the vans, and made our way up to Gemma’s home. She is a friend of Mama Lori’s, and originally from Great Britian. She moved to Maasiland about 5 years ago, and she and her husband have two small, adorable daughters. Gemma introduced us to our guide, Ben, a young Maasi warrior who spoke quite good English. He led us back down out of the village, out see the watering holes that they use for there drinking and washing water. Cattle do not drink here, as the paths were narrow and only wide enough for person. The first watering hole that we saw was quite small, Ben said it was about 4 feet deep, and it looked to be only about 8 feet wide at the widest point. It was almost completely covered in algae, which we watch a man brush away with his hand before filling his jugs. Along the path to the next hole, a Maasi elder stopped and greeted us, a ug on his back. He jokingly asked us to carry it, then, seeing that Mama Lori had her bright pink camera out, asked for her to take a picture of him. She did so, then walked over to show it to him on the small screen. He peered at it as she told him that she would be back in Monduli Juu in January, and that she would bring him a copy of the picture for him to keep. He nodded, and asked her to please not forget. We stepped out of the way as he continued walking back up the hill to the village, once again shouldering his water jug.

We reached the second watering hole, this one at the base of an enormous tree. Many years, and a lot of erosion had exposed the trees huge roots, and one could see that the watering hole used to be much much high than it is now. Yarrow and I saw a half dozen little frogs on the edge of it, which darted away as we walked down to get a better look. The water was not covered in algae, but instead was a murky white, like white paint after it has separated. We could see plant debris and garbage just below the surface. This was the most used watering hole, as the path was wide enough to bring donkeys down with multiple barrels tied to its back. As were climbing back up the path, an older woman stopped us and said something in Maasi to Ben, who laughed, and said, “She wants you to take her picture, Mama Lori.” So once again, the camera came out. The woman motioned to the rest of the group, and as the other students brought out their cameras, Ben laughed and walked over to the woman, putting his arm around her shoulders and smiling for the camera. It was a beautiful contrast – the seriousness of the woman’s face along side the large grin of the young warrior.

We continued walking, though our group spread out a bit. Ben was very soft-spoken, and only the three or four closest to him could hear his various comments about the area and the different plants. As we walked, the landscape opened up to a large field where cattle was grazing and two young boys were looking after them, walking along side of us, arm in arm, laughing. We could not understand them, as they were speaking Maasi, but it was one of those moments when I just knew they were talking about us, the silly wzungu (white people). We passed a number of women and children walking to the market – one of them an older blind woman whose grandson was helping her along. We reached the boma (a smaller Maasi village) on the other of the field, and walking just inside of it. A group of children, seemingly appearing from nowhere, came out, staring and laughing, little ones holding their brothers or sisters on their backs or by the hand. Ben motioned for us to leave, and as we did, the children started following us, a few grabbing us by the hand. On my right, I had a little boy, about four years old, and on my left was his brother, no more than 2. Once again, our group spread out, as small legs can only go so fast. After about twenty minutes of walking, we started to climb a small hill. Half way up seemed to be the stopping point for all of our little traveling partners, and they started back towards their homes, laughing and waving until we couldn’t see one another any longer.

We continued on, reaching Gemma’s house again, were we ate our usual boxed lunches. As usual, they were enormous, and much of the extra fruit, sandwiches, cake, and bread went to the children who seemed to appear out of nowhere. After lunch, we visited the market, as it was one of the market days, and were immediately surrounded with a half dozen cloth-sellers and jewelery-makers. I bought a beautiful piece of cloth with an orange and brown pattern (orange is the new fad in this village, as Ben explained) for 4000 Tsh (about 4 US dollars). We all knew that we were paying at least two, if not three times as much as what the Maasi would pay, but as Bryanna put it, the money means much more to them than it does to us. My salesman started out by asking for 10000, and outrageous price, to which I promptly laughed and started to turn away. He followed, asking 7000, then 6000. It was fun bargaining, and I know that some mzungu (this it the singular form of wzungu) will push the price quite low, but I stopped at 4000. I helped Siri out with a particularly stubborn salesman who quite literally started clipping necklaces around her neck and then asking for 5000 a piece. Since she could not see what she was being asked to buy, I quickly was recruited as the model. We bargained him down to half the price for two of them, which Siri and I bought for a together. After the bewildering market experience, we headed back up to Gemma’s home.

Gemma began an exceedingly interesting lecture on the struggles in rural education, especially focusing on the lack of traditional education of the young people. Before there were schools, children were taught practical, necessary things by the elders of the village. How to find water, how the birds can help predict the weather, what medicines will aid someone with malaria, and other such things. Since children now go to primary school, they a missing the opportunities to learn about the traditional ways of their people. Many cannot even explain what certain rituals or ceremonies mean any longer. Gemma explained it with a Kenyan proverb: When an elder dies, a library burns down. To prevent anymore loss of knowledge, Gemma, her husband, and several others, started a school in which culture and traditions are discussed, researched, and presented to the class by students. Children pick topics, and must go home and sit and talk with the elders to find out what particular songs mean, what certain styles of headdress signify, or what the importance of particular birds are to the different Maasi clans. Gemma also expressed frustration in the school of thought that believes that this type of education is worthless. How is it, she explained, that people all over the world come and live with Maasi, write massive papers on their traditions and activities, go home, and receive awards, degrees, and other such recognitions, when the culture itself is defined by many as backward, unimportant, antiquated, and outdated? It is a clear double standard, one that Gemma and her husband have been working with the UN to try to eliminate.

After this discussion, we talked a bit about this upcoming Thursday, as we will be spending two nights in a Maasi boma, much further up the mountain, camping in the village (in tents, because there are too many of us to house in the homes). Then we said goodbye, and began our bumpy ride back down the mountain.

July 24th (day 2) and 25th (day 3)

Hi folks, its me. We just finished dinner at the lovely hour of 7:45, and I decided to get some thoughts punched out before my brain shuts down completely.

Yesterday, we went to a coffee farmer's home, one of the only coffee farmers in the region anymore. Steven Ndosi, our teacher while here in Arusha, is one of the others. The farmer, Hamidu Mussa, showed us his home, and his feilds. After wandering around for a bit, picking the ripe coffee beans (they are ripe when they turn red instead of the unripe green color), he led us back to the home where he shows us how to shuck the outsides off of the beans. The beans have to be soaked and washed before they can be pounded and roasted, so instead of waiting until tomorrow to learn the rest of the process, we used some beans that had already been soaked and washed already. The beans are pounded, then roasted over a small open fire, then pounded again to make them into the usual texture that one would buy in a store - they are pounded rather than being ground, as grinding requires equipment which costs more. Then Steven and Hamidu made two pots of coffee - one weak, one strong. I added plenty of sugar to mine, and it was without a doubt the best tasting coffee I have ever had. Then again, I don't usually drink coffee, so I guess I'm not a particularily good judge. What I do know is that it smelled amazing. Tanzania culture dicates that it is bad manners to smell food, but the whole yard was rich with the aroma, so we could sniff at our pleasure without offending our hosts. After the coffee roasting, we returned to our rooms and then proceeded with another lesson in Swahili, led by Steven.

Today we got up at our usual time, had breakfast, and were on the road by 8am. We drove up to a small village called Maroni, and visited the farm of Reuben and Martha. Reuben is Steven Ndosi's nephew (Baba Steven is our teacher and guide while we are here) and so we were able to go and spend most of the day at the farm. They grow maize, beans, and sunflowers, all in the same fields. They do it this way so that if one crop fails, or does not produce as much as they had hoped, they can still continue growing another crop. The maize and the beans and bagged and sold, and the sunflowers are cut and the heads are beaten until all of the seeds come out. Once they are out and dried for a day or two, they are taken and pressed, to get sunflower oil, which can be sold for a good price. That is the crop that we helped with today. Martha handed out knives and walked ahead of us, cutting down the stalks that were ripe. Those of us with knives followed, cutting the heads off of the stalks. The others picked up the heads and threw them in a cart. After the cart was full, we went back to the yard and beat the heads with sticks until all the seeds came out. Our thumbs turned purple with the stain of the seeds, and most people got quite a few blisters! After all this, we had our lunch, then walked into town, to visit to primary school that LCCT students helped build during their semester here a few years ago. The children were ridiculous - a few of us played peek-a-boo with some of them, and they warmed right up to us.

After a bottom-bruising bus ride back to TCDC (the center that we are staying at) seven of us walked down the road to an orphanage that is run mostly by volunteers. There are 35 children (they are licensed for 40) and even with all our extra hands there was still a ton to do. It was a really uplifting time because these little ones don't point and shout "mzungu," which means "white person", and they don't ask us for money. They just cuddled in and snoozed in our laps.

Tomorrow we head out to a school for children orphaned by HIV/AID and then we go to a Maasi market. We will be back around 4:30, 5ish, and most of us plan on spending the evening with the babies at the orphanage again. The more time I spend here, the most time that I know that this is the right place for me to be right now.

Thanks so much to all who are sending emails, they are most appreciated!

Well, I'm here!

Hello everybody! It is 6:55 Arusha time, and just before dinner. We've all landed safe and sound, had our first 23 and a half hours in Tanzania, and been busy busy busy! Flight was lovely (they served us soup! Who serves soup on a turbulent airplane!?) and baggage claim was a breeze - no one lost anything, which was good. We had our first kiswahili lesson, and then went to the main city or Arusha and to 3 different markets. Walking around, I realized just how important it is going to be to learn kiswahili much better than the basic 'hello how are you'. Anyhow, dinner starts in 5 minutes, and I'm starving. Hopefully I"ll have time later this week to write more, but until then, haya kwa heri! (that's 'bye' for you non-kiswahili speakers)

I leave in one week

BAH!

Slightly scared out of my mind. Between pre-departure essays, packing, saying goodbye to loved ones, and trying to calm my heaving stomach, I still don't think I fully understand what I am getting myself into. I'm flying through things, missing Luther and Luther people like crazy, and really really wanting to just go chuck rocks in the lake for an hour.

I know that once I am there, things are going to be rough. I"ll be in a new place, with 8 semi-strangers, unable to speak the language except for the few phrases that my brain can hold onto, and on the other side of the world from everyone who know me and loves me.

I think that the things that I am the most worried about are the things I am not going to be here in the midwest for.....I am (once again) going to miss the family meeting. I won't be seeing my lovely sister off to college for her freshman fall. My youngest sister is going to swim like crazy and probably grow another 6 inches....everyone will go on with normal life (or not-so-normal, as the case may be!) and I'll see it all through the computer screen, or hear about it through phone calls. And when I come back, just talking and speaking about my experiences won't be enough to convey what I have learned - I'll be distanced from my loved ones by my experiences. I know that I should really be worrying only about what the next few weeks will bring me, but to be totally honest, I don't even know what I should be worrying about. So instead, I am focusing on distant things that I can semi-understand, which is a silly thing to do because they are months and months away.

Long story short, I am a goof ball. I am going to Africa for almost 5 months, I am going to have a difficult yet amazing time, and I am going to miss all of you. I'll keep in touch as much as possible.

A sense of vocation......if you are a Luther student, this phrase might mean very little to you, as it is sometimes little more than a well-worn phrase used often by the administration as a thinly disguised version of the question, "what are you going to do with your life?" But to others in the Luther community, and to myself, it is much much more than that.

I have the blessing or the curse (not sure, sometimes!) of knowing exactly what I am supposed to do with my life. I do not know specifics, nor do i have an exact plan, but I know what my purpose is, what my job in life is.

To me, a sense of vocation means that there is a constant tug to concentrate less on the things that are petty and short term, and more on the things that matter, the things that touch people, the things that are ephemeral and the things that are often intangible. My, my personal sense of vocation means that I don't look at the task at hand as the most important thing in my life. I look at the people, and do for them what no one else will do. This isn't an ego trip or a superhero complex. Whether others are unwilling or unable, I find myself in the position to do for some what no one else can. And this is what I am supposed to do. I do the things no one else will, and sometimes it ends up hurting me. A lot. But that is the nature of the beast, and I don't think I would have it any other way.

I wonder which is worse, sometimes - not know what one's purpose in life is, or knowing and being unable to achieve it. I think this is one of those things where sometimes ignorance can be bliss. If someone doesn't know what they are meant to do, called by God to do, then they can't feel the frustration when they are unable to do those things and live that life for God.

I wonder sometimes if my upcoming journey to Tanzania will answer some questions for me abut the specifics of my future. I could become inspired, and return to the States knowing exactly what God has planed for me, and tasks and goals in mind. Or, it might simply broaden my horizons of interests that much more, making it even more difficult to discern what I am supposed to do with my life.

Well, folks, here I go

Ha! Not quite yet. I wish. I still have, oh, about 64 more days to wait until I get to hop on that airplane with nine people I barely know and fly across the world with them. I'm scared - wouldn't you be? Oh, don't get me wrong, I am intensely excited!! But I also know that no matter how much preparation I do now, I still won't really understand what I am getting myself into until I am already there. But I am going to get back in the habit of posting here, so that I will remember to once I am over in Tanzania!!

I am Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah

Numbers 27::1-11

The Daughters of Zelophehad

27Then the daughters of Zelophehad came forward. Zelophehad was son of Hepher son of Gilead son of Machir son of Manasseh son of Joseph, a member of the Manassite clans. The names of his daughters were: Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah. They stood before Moses, Eleazar the priest, the leaders, and all the congregation, at the entrance of the tent of meeting, and they said, ‘Our father died in the wilderness; he was not among the company of those who gathered themselves together against the Lord in the company of Korah, but died for his own sin; and he had no sons. Why should the name of our father be taken away from his clan because he had no son? Give to us a possession among our father’s brothers.’ ²³⁴

5 Moses brought their case before the Lord. And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying: The daughters of Zelophehad are right in what they are saying; you shall indeed let them possess an inheritance among their father’s brothers and pass the inheritance of their father on to them. You shall also say to the Israelites, ‘If a man dies, and has no son, then you shall pass his inheritance on to his daughter. If he has no daughter, then you shall give his inheritance to his brothers. If he has no brothers, then you shall give his inheritance to his father’s brothers. And if his father has no brothers, then you shall give his inheritance to the nearest kinsman of his clan, and he shall possess it. It shall be for the Israelites a statute and ordinance, as the Lord ^67891011commanded Moses.’

This is an amazing text that until 3 days ago, I was not aware even existed. At a conference in Chicago at an amazing seminary, this text was opened up to me in a bold way, stating that these women, these five beautiful, intelligent, amazing, smart, fabulous women managed to take hundreds of YEARS of tradition, present it in a daring way to Moses and the assembly, and change an injustice that had existed without second thought or glance for many generations.

So why have I named by blog Zelophehad's Daughter? Because I believe that if I am daring enough, if I am bold enough, I can change injustices, small or large, in a way that millions of dollars and a team of lawyers cannot. I believe that with faith in God and with courage, I can do anything. That mission is not easy, and I am sure that I will falter along the way. But is it something that I have come to recognize as a calling in my life from God for quite sometime now.

I am also writing this blog as a way to share my fears, frustrations, joys, hesitations, excitement, optimism, and experiences as I prepare to study in Tanzania's capital city Dar al Salaam for six months. Once I am there, I will be very isolated from everything that goes on in America with everyone that I love, so at least this will be a way for me to let you see a glimpse of what I will be doing, what I will be seeing, and what I will be learning.