Bryan’s Peace Corps Adventure

So, it’s been longer than I thought. As many if not most of you already know, I’m back in Civilization, America, Home. The decision to come home was not made capriciously - it’s just not something one puts on his blog. The short version is that I experienced everything I was hoping to experience and my time would be better spent at home. Tanzania is amazing and it started to be my home, but not where I am going to live out my life. Currently, I am my little sister’s nanny; this allows me to do transitional things like update blog, resume, and adjust while prepping for my next adventure - law or business school. Anyways, throughout Peace Corps I was hoping to grow in my knowledge or proficiency in the following areas:

Development, Guitar, Travel, Teaching, and Language

I feel like everyone who is reading this has already read enough of my ramblings on development; Guitar will never be more than a personal passion, but I really enjoyed the emotional bonds we built in the obscurity of Chidya; speaking of obscurity, I am yet to meet another Swahili-speaker in America and the King County Library doesn’t have a single book in swahili (I was certified as an Advanced-Mid Speaker though); Teaching was fun - probably more educational for me than my students - but it’s not something I could do professionally; Travel is part of the Peace Corps experience - I loved it. Not just the places I was lucky and dumb enough to go, but the process of protecting bags, haggling with taxis, busses, hotels, vendors, and well everyone, having a plan sort-of, and just trusting yourself and your friends to handle whatever was thrown at us.

Goodbyes were difficult. Since leaving I’ve exchanged two texts with my Tanzanian besti Amin and we expected that to be the case. I’ve sent some letters and just got Skype worked out, but America is just as far from Tanzania as Tanzania is from America. Mainly, everyone was very supportive. Mat, Bev, Stevu, and I had one final weekend of hanging out and going to the disco in Newala -best disco in the country! They don’t play around; they stick to the classics and the best of the best of what’s new only. All in all, the week of farewells went as best as I could hope for.

After four weeks of beauracracy in Dar and one last attempt to steal my phone through the window of my taxi to the airport, I boarded a plane and that was that. In the waiting for a flight using a 747, there were maybe ten people speaking swahili. Almost everyone else was obviously a tourist. The advantages that I have enjoyed throughout my life were becoming increasingly apparant - mobility, communications, wealth, recreation, variety of instantly available foods, stable electricity, running water, being surrouned by similarly advantaged people, medicine, vending machines.

A vending machine with a standard array of western candy was the first thing I noticed in Amsterdam. Then, I noticed the McDonalds. I’m not a fast food fan really, but there is a time and place for everything. Factor in that the dollar is kind of weak and that I was at an airport; still I managed to spend $16 on a meal at McDonalds. Between my two flights, I watched nine movies and slept not a wink. Mom picked me up from Seatac with all her kids in tow and we got Chinese. The following day I did a tour de Seattle (Trabant Chai Lounge, Gasworks Park, and Pike’s Place). In Pike’s Place, Alli looks over at me and says I look like I am about to have a panic attack. She was right.

I’ve since adjusted a little bit more, but sometimes mumble things to myself in Swahili. It was an amazing experience - just incredible. An amazing chapter in my life, not one day of which I regret. The friendships will hopefully last a lifetime, even if face-to-face meetings are spaced by years. Besti wangu wa Chidya na Peace Corps, tutakutana tena; Mungu atapenda! Otherwise, I’ll finish with a story about riding one of the aweful dalla dalla.

 On my home from Joe’s, I hopped on a dalla dalla to get to Masasi. Thirty minutes into the ride, halfway, someone from my village gets on, Mudi. He proceeds to tell me that our truck is broken and there is no way back to Chidya that day except to pay for a motorcycle. Peace Corps bans us from riding motorcycles for the same reason that I’d rather not ride one, they are very dangerous. Upon hearing this information, I decide I should get off and catch a ride back to Joe’s lest I spend the night alone in Masasi in some random guesthouse. I yell the word for “drop me to the curb” and grab my hiking bag. Then, I ask the conductor for the change from my fare. We’re in Chigugu and the price to Chigugu is only half the fare of going to Masasi, besides the difference would be perfect for getting back to Joe’s house. The conductor flat-out refuses. We argue in the middle of the road for a good five minutes until we’re essentially just calling each other names in Swahili that I won’t admit to saying in print. He jumps back in the dalla and says that they are leaving with or without me. Out of complete passive-aggresiveness I jump back in. I had never been so angry in my life (mind you, this was before the various pick-pocketing attempts). I was content to ride all the way to Masasi in silent contempt, but Mudi wasn’t. For the next forty minutes, he yells at the conductor on my befalf. He spoke fast so I didn’t catch every word; I did catch the gist though. “You’re only treating him this way because he is white or a foriegner” “If he were Tanzanian, you would give him the change” “He is a teacher at our school living with us like we live” “you should treat us all equally as humans” I barely knew Mudi; he worked on the truck, helped me with my bags and practice Swahili during our two and half hour trip. The numerous arguments with taxi drivers, random theft, and endless environmental trepidations were dramatic - they make good stories. The blind and relentless help from Mudi, Amin, Geofrey, Julius, Boaz, Idi, mamas, wazee and so many strangers, however, is how I will always remember Tanzania - through the memories I made with Tanzanians.

Alright, so school is up and running! After Geofrey’s wedding (pictures of such, by the way, are courtesy of Natalia – a friend of a friend of a friend), I returned to Chidya just in time for the school to open. It only took three more weeks for students to show. I try to make a list of stuff as is happens and then get that online. Updates on the basics though are as follows: my bank card (the replacement to the one I lost and indirectly bought peanuts for) showed up about a month ago, but it didn’t work. No worries, they have ordered another from

Guest Houses in

To cook my most basic meal of rice and beans, is a ridiculous process. Filter water. Add capful bleach to 20 litres of clean water. Spread a cup of rice out in this basket like thing. Remove rocks from rice for ten minutes or so. Rinse rice with clean water. Bring rice to boil. Reduce heat and cover. Stir. Let sit aside covered. Remove one cup of beans, bean by bean, from the dried sardine, twig, rock, and (mainly) bean mix one gets at the duka. Rinse beans twice by shaking them like a maraca between two bowls. Soak beans in clean water overnight. Boil Beans (for an unknown number of hours or get a pressure cooker). The amount of time this takes is a highly dependent on what type of fuel I use. Charcoal is cheap and takes lots of time (fan harder!!!!); kerosene is pricey but quick (though the backdraft of flames in my face when I try to blow it out is obnoxious); electricity is just a bit slower than kerosene, but…let’s not talk about it.

This food crisis thing has been really interesting because there are suddenly all these articles from the first world about the most basic elements of my life. Yes, the rest of the world is aspiring to live like us – using as many resources per capita as we use. I read that

Everyone thinks I should be married! To the point that people are offering to help me find someone (or simply to be the bride). The thinned hair and facial hair doesn’t help – how can someone be thirty-five and not have children? At this point they usually start to insist that I marry a Tanzanian. I respond that I am looking for a woman about my age that has finished university, speaks fluent English, and is financially independent – all of which is true. That’s when either they look disappointed or advise me to look in Dar or Arusha. Yuri, Erika, don’t worry. I have no intention of getting married any time soon, no matter how difficult that can be to explain here.

Coming back from some early morning cell phone use, I ran into Idi (see picture below) who asked me what I was doing. I said I was going to go make some food. He felt that it was a little early for food, 8am instead of the normal chai at 11am. To alleviate his surprise, I deferred to my American-ness. Then, Idi explains to me that it’s like a car. Americans prefer to fill up the tank before heading out, but Tanzanians will just go and wait until gas becomes a problem. I felt understood.

The Tanzanian Parliament is now in session and completely televised. And anyone with a T.V. is glued to it – forget music videos, we listen to members of Bunge discuss how to reduce traffic accidents. While the entertainment value for me is way less than the 40-in-1 Nicolas Cage DVD, it’s inspiring to see such active participation in Democracy- even if from a couch. Oh, also Tanzanians love their WWE. I recently got to watch Batista tap out of a Kali bomb. And if I may says so, The Edge needs to step up.

That about covers it. Hiked from Joe’s house to mine via a village called Namdimba, which included a “fierce hill”. My students laughed when I told them the route that we took. Back at my place we pulled an almost all nighter to finish a 1000 piece puzzle in one sitting. And Charles, the school accountant, invited me lunch at his house the other day. As we approach his house, there is a small black goat tied to shrub. It was delicious! No Pics for now, but they’re on their way.

These are some pictures from Geofrey’s wedding; it was completely worth the wait. The horn band, the seats for the bride and groom, the kids mimicking the the process, dancing, introductions of the families to each other…it was a very classy, elegant, and organized event. I would expect nothing less of Geofrey - he’s just good at life. Anyways, just wanted to share some photos and say I’ll catch you all later…a while later. Time to get some teaching done and I have no seminars or reason to really wander toward internet for a bit. so bye. au badae

Hi all,

As most of you know I (Margaret, old, old friend of Bry’s) just returned from a visit to Bry in Tanzania…what an amazing adventure! Below are a couple of entries from the journal that I wrote in constantly…neurotically. So this is just a taste of my trip and experiences. And its long. I’ll add pictures later today or tomorrow, as soon as I start getting them organized. Peruse and enjoy!

Chidya

Made it to Bryan’s house. After a coaster ride to Masasi, we had about an hour til the truck that goes by Chidya left, so we went to the bank. I couldn’t get cash from my card, so we changed over the rest of what I had (about $60) to shillings. The bank took forever- there was a lot of paperwork and they are very concerned with passport numbers, which Bry says is common. We also got some bread at the duka. Then took the truck to Chidya. When I say truck, I litrally mean a flatbed like the ones the gardeners use- it was about ¼- 1/3 full of luggage and supplies (tomatoes, flour, personal luggage, etc) and then 25-30 people standing and sitting in the back. The older women and children sit on the bags of four on the bed of the truck, the men and younger women stand and hold onto the crossbars over their heads. And try not to hit their heads on them. The road to his village is entirely dirt, and some sand- we only got stuck twice, which was good. The ground is so worn that its litrally rounded in the middle, and the truck is constantly rocking back and forth between the roundness and ruts and potholes, and sometimes seems like its barely going to keep upright. The ride was about 2 ½ hours- I stood the whole time behind a woman with a bag (black plastic, of course) full of dried sardines which REALLY stunk. There were only a few stops, and so the ride went pretty quickly. It also wasn’t too hot, and now its actually a little chilly- we are up on a plateau.

Kijiji, in Kiswahili means ‘little metropolis’ but is the word for ‘village.’ That’s what Chidya is- there is the school, a small Duka and a few thousand people living in the bush in mud huts (litrally mud/rock/sticks) for a few kilometers around. Bry’s house is nice. The setup is awkward, but makes sense when you think about it. The bedrooms, living room, dining room and shower room (that has a toilet and sink and tub that used to work, but there isn’t running water anymore) are in one section of the house. The kitchen is in a separently enclosed space still attached to the main structure, and the cho is out in the backyard area. That way the toilet doesn’t stink up the house, and the bugs in the kitchen aren’t all that attracted to the common rooms.

And yes, there ARE bugs. Example: Bry pulled a box of tea out of his cabinet and a huge wasp-bee like thing flew out – no kidding it was probably 3 inches long, dragonfly size – and Bryan and I both screamed bloody murder! On- and there is a HUGE bee that lives in one of his sheds, its gotta be 2 inches around. Apparently it’s a kind of honey bee and doesn’t sting…whatever. And there are two MASSIVE spiders that live in Bry’s living room. With legs spead out (but not that far) they are each probably the size of my fist…luckily they don’t seem to move much. Bry said he would kill them if I wanted, but I guess they eat a lot of bugs, and that’s always a plus. And if he just put them outside, I wouldn’t want them trying to find their way back in…at least I can keep an eye on them where they are.

We walked over to Bry’s cell phone spot thie evening and ran into one of his teacher-friends, Ailifa. Ailifa tried to teach me a question-response thing in Kiswahili, except he explained it in Kiswahili…I’m starting to get down some of the hello/how are you sequences, but there are so many different varieties, and then people realize that I don’t know Kiswahili and switch to English- which is so heavily accented I can’t tell what language they are speaking at all.

Simba campsite, Ngorongoro Crater

HUGE ELEPHANT IN CAMP LAST NIGHT! A bunch of us are sitting around after dinner talking and Deo (our cook, who really doesn’t speak English) comes over to Bryan and says he wants to show him a night elephant. No kidding, we thought he was making some kind of drink. Turns out, it s a ACTUAL MASSIVE ELEPHANT! Easily the biggest we’ve seen, probably 20 feet tall with gigantic tusks. There is a big water tank at site, hundreds of litres easily, and the big guy was drinking out of it! Everyone at the site was watching, probably 40 people, and he just kept on drinking, standing there about 15 feet from everyone. It was amazing, he was HUGE. Even the guides said he was one of the biggest they’d seen. So we’re all reeling about this massive elephant, he finally walks away, and we all go to bed. Bry and I get into our tent, and a few minutes later Joanna (a girl in our safari group) is outside going ‘guys, come out.’ I guess the elephant had come back and was beside the girls bathrooms, then wandered off again. She comes back a few minutes later and says ‘guys, there are EYES everywhere, come and see’ so we walk about 50-60 yards to the endge of camp (which is basically a hedge, then a cliff- and shine our flashlights over the area. It’s about 10 zebra, grazing along the edge of camp near the hedge. They aren’t startled by the flashlights at all, they just look over at us, and then go on eating. We walked toward them, til we were about 5 yards away, and the stood and just watched them for probably half an hour. We finally went in around 10 or 11 pm to sleep. In the morning Joanna said she woke up to animals circling around the tents- this morning we found out they were wild hogs. We’d been warned not to keep a lot of food in our tents because of them. Oh, and it was freezing last night- completely freezing. Kanga-soaking-wet-and-slight-frozen-with-dew-freezing. This morning we go down into the crater for a few hours, then head back to Arusha. Badae! (later!)

Arusha (An entry written by Bryan)

This f-ing jack-a kid who looks like he’s 17 but is probably 29 just tried to pick-pocket my phone. Margaret and I passed him on Boboue Dr, Arusha while commenting on the little to flamboyant way he was cuddling with his three friends (Margaret note: they all do that…its weird). A few minutes later, this skinny-shirted tight jeans wearing youth tried to pick-pocket my phone. Margaret left side- phone right side. Felt a pressing against my right thigh and pushed with my arm. Touched the person. Realized nothing was taken, caught his eyes, chased him down a dirt path after the bridge we were on, and started yelling in Kiswahili ‘I will kill you,’ ‘Run faster I know karate!’ (I’m ridiculous), I slowed down, he stopped, I stopped he faked pulling something from his pants, I thought of taking out my knife, thought of Margaret, thought of three other friends, walked back looking over my shoulder, passed who I thought were his friends (couldn’t be sure) said ‘You’re his friends right? You’re bad youths!’ (I’m a ridiculous brand of teacher), was back to Margaret, relieved that they didn’t take anything, paused, kept walking. Odd combination of anger, adrenaline and happiness (maybe self-satisfaction), no relief or uneasiness, just anger and happiness, frustrated that I couldn’t follow him forever, that I didn’t get to hit him, so many violent thoughts. Better that Margaret’s here to calm me down, so angry, adrenaline slowing down, dazed a little. This just happened. Okay, we were doing everything right and everything turned out all right. No loss, all safe, happy and angry. I could use Swahili – silly teacher Swahili- in a high pressure situation, angered by how much Tanzanians beg and steal from people volunteering.

Two others helped us find our restaurant, so many willing to help, as much as they need it, and then there are others, I chosse this former, the latter choose us, now I’m realizing this point: can’t give, help, assist, volunteer, blah blah blah, withoutsome kind of explanation. It’s still worth it.

-Bryan

Zanzibar

Good day today. After hitting up the internet for a bit, we just wandered through the streets of Stonetown- got street breakfast of Sambussas and Kitumbua (fried rice dumpling things). Looked at a lot of shops, and got a good idea of what things should cost, and then found a little hoteli that had mazing gelato, all made with fresh, local ingredients. It was super- safi, I had passion fruit and coconut and if I could bring 30 gallons of each back with me to the states I would.

One of the best things today was hitting up the local soko (market), called the Danajar market. There was SO much fresh fruit, so many vegetables, who huge isles full of only fish or meat or spices and it was so colorful, and so many people! We tasted a piece of fresh jackfruit, and a famous ‘red banana.’ The jackfruit is about a foot-long watermelon-shaped fruit, the inside is a squashy-yellow color, and is like a big seed pod. Around each of the seeds is the fruit, and then those are encased around a kind of rind- you pull the rind off and eath the fleshy yellow part- really, really good. Then we tried the red banana, which is only grown in certain parts of Tanzania, not to be confused with plantains. Plantains, apparently, are poor people food because they grow more easily than bananas or something…although I swear I’ve seen Rachael Ray use plantains as some sort of delicacy for desserts. Red bananas are…red. And just tasted slightly sweeter than a regular banana. So that was kind of anticlimactic. We laster had a ‘dafu’ coconut, which is the variety that you can chop open and drink from. We bought the coconut from a baboo (grandpa), who had a massive basket that you see everywhere (they’re probably 3 feet around) full of them strapped to the back of his bicycle. Its very common. The kind of coconut you get flakes from is smaller, harrier and called a ‘nazi’ (not like the germans, you say it phonetically)- you don’t have milk and the fruit is hard, that’s why they have to grate it. The soko was busy, but it was nice not to have to push away people the whole time. We weren’t in too touristy an area, but the vendors were much more used to seeing white people, so that was kind of nice.

I’m staying this week in Dar to attend my secondmaster’s wedding this Saturday. Margaret left the 6th after our endless series of epic adventures, so now I’m just hanging out by myself. Since this is Dar and I am me that mainly means shooting pool and searching the best cappuccino available. This morning I went in search of my favorite TZ breakfast, beans with two spoonfulls of sugar and two chapati (flatbread-ish). When the restaraunt made of sticks and some tin roof didn’t have beans, I opted for the cafe at the movenpick-nicest hotel in Dar whose cafe serves coffee in every form and a variety of pastries. I say spend either 700 shillings on breakfast or 7000, but no amount in between. Anyways, I made a list of stories and thoughts and whatnot that should catch things up to when I grabbed Margaret from the airport. Hopefully, she’ll be able to guest-write an entry about said vacation-she was so good about journaling! Up til’ then…

This handsome young man is Idi. He currently works at his family’s shop, which is the school store at Chidya. With a working knowledge of three languages (Swahili, Kimakonde, and English),  he is witty beyond words. Always up for some random dancing at the duka, Idi is also just relaxing to hang out with. When he asked me if I knew any single American girls who were “in the market”, I mentioned the idea of putting his picture on my blog. He was all for it; while language and culture might present some difficulties, he’s up to it if you are.

ZAWADI - it means gift. Everyone always asks for a gift. Every time I leave the village. Someone called while I was in Arusha; upon telling them that I was in Arusha, they asked for a gift. Someone else asked for a coat. Then there’s the implied pressure that my guest will bring everyone a gift - cd players are really cheap in America, right? It’s not just gifts though. I can’t leave anything out in my house less someone asks to have it. Pens, books, speakers, paper, dishes, anything. In addition to the continuous pleas for money. I am not throwing this out there to vent, though it is frustrating. It’s just a constant element of my life and thus seemed worthy of mention. Yes, I see that you have glycoma and no I don’t know an organization that can help you and I don’t have the time or energy to find one. I’m sorry.

It was a two hour hike downhill to watch my kids play soccer against Chigugu, but it was more than worth it. Julius (fellow teacher) lead me through the woods, hills, creek, and villages to the field where most of our students were already hanging out eating oranges. After an hour or so, the game got going. One of my students was dressed up in Masai garb giving candy to kids so long as they cheered for Chidya. Six others were circling the field with a home made banner of “Chidya Boy’s Army” and the school insignia. 20-40 more were doing a sort of line dance that continued throughout the match. No points were scored in the first half. Early in the second, Godi, our attacker on the right flank, scored with some fancy footwork. My kids stormed the field screaming, a few were even doing back handsprings. Crazy! Shortly thereafter, Chigugu scored and so they went crazy. Most of us from Chidya however thought that this was only made possible because of some really bad calls by the ref. Thus, when the game ended tied 1-1, I got to watch about two hundred kids chase the ref off the field and through some brush. Thankfully, Julius was able to calm the kids down and get them started on the hike back up to Chidya. He really was very skillful at controlling the situation, being the voice of reason. As we left Chigugu, i greeted four little girls that were staring pretty hard (Margaret - they really did walladeuce me bad!). They then started chanted “Mzungu Wetu” - our white person. This was the view as we hit the trail…

TKD - Tae Kwon Do is going pretty good. Since school got out around the 9th of June, the team hasn’t met of course. Before that though, our three most recent meeting had perfect attendance with either everyone present or they told me they had malaria or something. Once school starts up again, we’ll continue with some basic for a couple months and then start trying to choreograph some demonstrations. I’ll probably be soliciting help for practice paddles, uniforms, and some sparring gear eventually. And now I know why so many wrote about thieves and pickpockets in the application essays - I’ll leave it to Margaret to cover that…

Finals - For a week, the students have a three hour test in a subject in the morning followed by a three hour exam in the afternoon. Two tests a day for a week. It was brutal and I just had to make sure that they didn’t cheat, which they are always trying to do. All in all, it was a tiring experience for everyone involved. The form ones did really good on my test except for a few issues about fractions and how they relate to percentages. For form three, though, I used just relevant questions from previous national exams. Those sort of crushed them a little bit. Grades FYI, are as follows: 0-20 F 21-40 D 41-60 C 61-80 B 81-100 A. I think out of eighty students, there were three A’s. They don’t want to do exercises! They will study their notes, but knowing an equation is different from using it. Choose your battles, right? Well, with rampant poverty, malaria, and AIDS amidst, I choose homework.

Tuition - Tuition is what Tanzanians call outside of the classroom help because usually teachers charge a fee of some sorts for it. After the school shut down, about ten form fours stayed behind to continue studying for their national exams. Taking up my offer of free tuition, they asked me to teach them Probability. I told them no notes, only practice questions. These are brilliant kids that were willing to apply themselves; they each picked up on a different aspect of the problems and then helped each other to get the whole picture. Anyways, best tutoring experience of my life.

How come everyone increases their price when they see me? How much is the bus to Arusha? 18,500? How much did you pay? 15,000? Can I please pay 15,000 too? Oh, the white person tax….

I used to think it was wierd for some to dedicate their life to a cause like Mother’s Against Drunk Driving when there were children starving in Africa. I don’t think that anymore. I am horribly situated to help Tanzania. Most of my time is exhausted trying to understand what is going on around me-language and culture. Honestly, I know my students would be better off with a qualified Tanzanian teacher who understood they way they learn. Those are unfortunately lacking, so… Malnutrition is blatantly obvious and polio victims beg on the streets, using flip-flops on their hands to get around. My headmaster’s niece was diagnosed with malaria when in reality she had yellow fever; after recieving the wrong treatment, she died on her way to the hospital. I can’t really help with nutrition, can’t provide medical services of any kind, and certainly can’t go around building hospitals. I know math, so I teach math. Point being, we are best situated to help ourselves, our families, our friends, and then the world - in that order. Cause exhaustion be damned!

Those are selected examples of life’s capriciousness. In general, people really are happy here, including myself. To end on a better note, following are some pictures of the good times with some of my peace corps friends. Mat in aviators. Steve hitting Bev with a water bottle. Dylan after we pushed our cab out of the mud. Joe with a chicken on public transport. Mat, Steve, and I with grotesque facial hair - get it? And at PC swearing in ceremony, my CBT (Community Based Training) Group all dressed up.

I almost did it – I almost taught every single one of my periods a couple weeks ago. Between various work around the school, form one not being split into two streams until six weeks into he school year, a riot, and a variety of fevers and stomach “issues”, I am yet to teach my complete schedule in a given week. Form three and form one, of which there are two streams of each, have mathematics three times a week in two period blocks for a total of 24 periods weekly. This is yet to happen – two weeks ago I was only one class short, only two periods away from a perfect game. Alas, the motor to the water pump has burned out (I’m down to about thirty litres, including drinking water) and form was sent to fetch water. I was so close!!! Oh well, I guess it’s good to have a goal…

            Otherwise, school is continuing with a good amount of momentum. After the “no sugar, no peace” fiasco, I abstained from teaching the students martial arts for a while. Instead I collected essays from those interested and chose 16 students for a TKD team. I almost know all their names and might have to replace a few with sporadic attendance, but the team has thus far been a much more satisfying experience than the previous mob-like classes. Their discipline and cooperation is noticeably improving as well. I get to see their personalities so much more in a smaller class setting. If anyone feels like mailing me a couple TKD paddles (targets held by the instructor that are shaped like raindrops) that would be great. My hands can only take so many kicks from adolescent boys that attend an all male boarding school before I can’t play guitar.

            I just found out that I killed a bat. After chasing it out of various rooms and closing doors, I isolated the battleground to just my living room and the dining room. The back wall of my living is like a series of concrete backslashes (‘/’) stacked on top of each other so that the wind can get through but no can see in. Also, you should know that I am using a slasher (an inch wide piece of metal that people swing back and forth to cut grass here) as a sword in this pursuit. I don’t want to hurt it – I just want it to leave. As I approach my dining, it flies straight at me. I duck and slash at the same time in a fashion that exposes just how uncoordinated I really am. The bat’s thrown toward the above mentioned wall. I tip-toe that way, half expecting it to fly at my face and bite the mole off my nose. I can’t find it; maybe it slipped through a slit in the wall. I look, nothing. After five, maybe ten minutes, of searching, I gave up, assumed that it left, and went to bed victorious. That was a couple months ago. Last week, I went to use my bike that I store on the back side of said wall. In the helmet, hanging from the handle bars, is the dried out carcass of a dead bat. Did I break its wing or kill it instantly? I hope for the latter. Proud? No. Amazed? Yes.

            My mom thought this was hilarious: while in Morogoro for more training last month, I lost my wallet. I assume that it fell out my pocket as I left a taxi, preoccupied with gathering someone’s umbrella and my camera. I lost: Peace Corps ID card, ATM card, and 4000tsh ($4). I borrow money from a fellow volunteer (thanks Aaron) to get me through the week, tell PC about the lost ID, and have to wait until I get back to Masasi to try to replace the bank card. Fast forward to Masasi. At the bank, the manager tells me that I have to go to the police station to fill out a loss of property form before it can be replaced. After some communication with PC to make sure that this was the best course of action I headed to the Police Substation in the market. They don’t have the form, so I catch a coaster to the bus stand (which was free thanks to five minutes of joking with the conductor about how I had no money – his repeated response: laughing and the phrase “but you’re white”). After a brief walk, I am at the main Police Station. I give them the note the manager of the bank gave me explaining the situation. All is good; they only have one copy of the form though, so an elderly policeman with an endearing moustache asks for 200tsh to go make a copy of the form at the bus stand. I tell him that copies only cost 50 shillings; he subsequently informs me that copies are now 100tsh and that we need two copies. Twenty minutes later, he comes back with one copy of the form and a handful of peanuts (insert mom laughing hysterically here).

            To his credit he was very helpful with the form and offered me some of the peanuts. He was very confused, however, by my lack of religion. “Are you Christian or Muslim?” “Neither” “What? No, no, are you Christian or Muslim?” “I don’t have a religion” puzzled look followed by “I’m writing Christian”. Back at the bank the extremely kind manager finished up all the paperwork and said that he just needed a couple passport size photos and my card could be ready in one to two months. At this point, I honestly thought my life had turned into a Tanzanian version of Zelda. I was going to give up for the day when I ran into Amin waiting for the truck to Chidya, which was thankfully late as usual. He took me to a five minute photo place and I got the pictures to the bank with time to spare – actually, it was another couple hours before the truck came. Anyways, that’s how one replaces their ATM card in

There are other stories, but they can wait.

Status: realized some of my defining qualities are doubt, perserverence, and a certain kind of incompleteness. (thank you Master Shon for cultivating the middle won-it’s by far the most helpful)

The following is my journal entry for April 2, the day of the riot. I didn’t write it with the intention of sharing it, but I think it relays the day well.

“Karibu,

It’s been two months since I last wrote and there is a riot going on at the school right now. But I want to start at the beginning. Knowing that I don’t write very often, I want to fully describe one day – which was fairly typical until Julius told me that the students broke into the storeroom and directed me not to leave my house through the mesh on my dining room window.

They just smashed the light at the duka – seems they’re on the march.

I woke up an hour before my alarm was to go off at 6:15. Heard the students’ bell to wake up, heard my alarm, woke up, prayed, started water to boil on my hot plate, went to the bathroom via torch.

Coffee, uji, finished writing a lesson, read “Scribbling the Cat” a bit. School things went to the table, dish things went to the kitchen, I went to school.

Greet, greet, sign “NO SUGAR, NO PEACE”, greet, forget to sign logbook again, grab a handful of bits of chalk and head to FIII AL. I taught FOIL.

The lesson was boring, I was boring, special English was especially boring. The boys seem less entertained, but more content with my evolving pedagogy. Solutions-Notes-Example-Exercised-Repeat. Straight from the classroom, I returned home at 8-ish to make dough, throw out the bad goat meat, and contemplate lunch. First packet of yeast was dead – the second ate sugar and smelled of alcohol. Listened to the Beattles via cassette via Stevu. Read book, ate some tic-tacs.

10:25 means I need to go to the duka and wait for mandazi because at 10:35 the students start their chai break – specifically by climbing over anything alive, built, or around to pay mia moja for a mandazi. Sitting on the duka bench, asking Napinda’s adorable three year old daughter if she can count, the students start running past me to her house. This is strange so I follow. Mandazi are late today/coming straight from the oil to our hands/flakey and delicious.

It sounds like they are using a battering ram of sorts.

Chai, office, milk without tea, “NO SUGAR, NO PEACE” explained, psuedo hunger strike (they only plan to skip breakfast), zoned out for a bit, taught, taught.

After writing numbers in and around a million on each desk of the Form ones and making them say it aloud in English for 2 hours, I helped a Form 2 with a problem on radicals while the rest of his stream slept. I don’t teach Form 2.

Constant Comment without powdered milk, “If You Could Only See” on guitar (learning, not playing), “You Don’t Know How It Feels” (same), lemonade crystal light in Nalgene, read book, kneaded bread, peanut thai noodles, read in bed, went to teach Tae Kwon Do for the first time in a few weeks – problems: key, key, students, break, hospital, key.

A student just knocked on the same mesh as Julius. He told Geoffrey about their plan and has the eyes of malaria, of deep fear. He asked for sanctuary (in much simpler words since we spoke Swahili). I just, literally just, have him a pillow and sheet. Then I learned his name. Yes, he is one of my students.

Tae Kwon Do was fun – its sporadic occurrence has filtered the mob of adolescent boys down to seven. Jumping kicks, hand grab number 2 – white belt, texted Emily. Actually, texted mom throughout much of the morning – to wish Braddock a happy second birthday for one. Jokingly texted Kristen about potential riot, since there was one at her school over food as well. Tae Kwon Do was fun.

Poured kerosene over charcoal while boiling water for my bucket bath, which built up while I took the bucket bath- listening to Alli mix 1. Slacks, Addidas pants, shorts; silver button-up, dirty white tea, “into the wild” shirt; dress shoes, no shoes, Tanzanian flip-flops. Started bread, Amin greeted me/helped judge heat of coals for baking/Amin left. Book, prepared coffee, tore open olive oil with knife, checked on bread. Best Yet.

I cut off about half a loaf to enjoy with olive oil, basalmic vinegar, and coffee – one of my favorite meals anywhere. The bread had Italian seasoning and oregano kneaded into it and I boiled the grounds so the coffee was strong. Still drinking coffee.

Julius knocked on the mesh; he was with Boaz; I couldn’t understand him; I understood “usiondoke nyumbani kwako”.

-Don’t leave you house-

They broke light bulbs, that student is sleeping in the room where I keep my guitar, and I will be sleeping with my room locked and my camera in it. They are quiet now and I am glad to be tired. As usual, mom was right. I forgot to write about Staha asking for “whatever I have”, bringing Boaz the key, passing Godfrey as he went to another day of standard seven, and other things that get lost in the normality. I going to go attempt a page from my Scrabble calendar.

Usiku Mwema
Bliani”

No one was physically hurt; otherwise, the pictures kind of tell the story. Six students arrested, 21 expelled, 18 suspended for a month, most will have to pay a fine of some sort, up to $90. That’s a lot for them. They did use a battering ram in order to get the kerosene in the duka, which was then used to burn the staff room. The ground shook and sound seemed to be everywhere, one place at a time and always with new form.

Some real perspective on it comes from Kristen, who also experienced a riot (as mentioned above). I defer to someone wiser and kinder than me…

“Anyway, my conclusion is when it comes to riots, neither side is particularly at fault. The students blame the teachers for not teaching or not giving them the education (or diet) they should be getting. The teachers blame the students for bad behavior. But, at my school at least, the teachers work hard, and the students are generally awesome. There are simply too few resources, and too few teachers, to keep the place running smoothly. And despite the fact that things often feel like they’re on the brink of chaos, thing generally-amazingly-work out.”

Other news from the last month…

Electricity and my once a day running water have returned with what I will refer to as stability. My water is brown. I clean my rice, picking out rocks and what-not, for ten minutes before washing it – then I cook it. Buying bread is better than baking bread. I almost always have a knife and flashlight with me – this habit was slow to form. The word for umbrella stems from the word for shade, not the word for rain. Only in
Africa. Ants took over my house for morning. The literally covered one entire side of my house and a third of another. They were after these larvae that something had laid in my ceiling. There were so many I could not get to my bathroom. Student had an old hand-held version of Tetris – I still got it. I might be becoming a Manchester United fan, probably hear more about that later. For now, I really like watching games with Amin. Mom said to mention that instead of students moving from class to class, I do; they gave me a house to live in, a classroom would way above and beyond. And to finish, here’s a list of ten amazingly Tanzanian things I might do when I get back.

1. Picking Nose/Snot Rocket – why waste money on tissue!?!?!
2. “eh” to express surprise. Its quick and high-pitched, very masculine
3. Holding Hands with men only – I love watching my all male students cuddle in class.
4. Hot Pots – they keep food warm – they’re really useful – really
5. No Awkward Silence – I can now sit with people and say nothing. Not because of a language barrier, what’s there to say
6. “Haya” – an extended sigh that indicates that I’m going…uh…this way.
7. Eat Without Waiting – I mention it because I know it will annoy certain people in the future, but I get harassed if I wait for others to eat. Also, might be using my right hand to do this (the left is for TP, so I have to use the right)
8. Hang Up Randomly – cell phones are for texting – talking is expensive, it stops when I want
9. Not finish Things
10. Chapter Now

I am currently back in Morogoro, where I had my original language training. I went and visited my home-stay mama and it was great. She remembered my favorite beer (kilimanjaro) and we could actually converse about things. Mostly we talked about things that we already knew about each other before, but instead of three months it took two hours. I had a street vendor who was selling Tingatinga paintings say that I knew more Swahili than any mzungu (white person) that he had ever met on the basis that I knew the word for a light drizzle and the word for rain - probably has something to do with coming from Seattle. For how much conversation goes beyond me or how often I misinterpret what’s being said, it was nice to impress someone. At my site, they know what I can say and what I can’t; sure it grows a bit every now and then, but it’s hard to impress them. I noticed that Ralph listed Peace Corps Combat Specialist as a possible title for me. I like it - Mat and I are talking about doing some HIV/AIDS awareness and self-defense stuff with some of the girls at his school, so maybe it will be appropriate. Having a conference now on secondary projects, which is anything I do really besides teaching. From the conference: “If the letters are broken you can’t fix the syllables” - Kirk Alan (American). Definition of culture “total way of life”. Thought that was pretty accurate. And otherwise I am going to go get a hamburger now at a safi restaurant, cause civilization is nice. It might even have cheese - trying not to get my hopes too high though.

STATUS: Realizing how adjusted I am to life here with a streak of contentment deriving from the deep, dirty south.

Check out those pictures!!!

For the moment, time is about out so the explanation for all this will have to wait. I survived, everyoned survived. No one hurt. Post the word part of this later this week. Look at that bread though! And the butchering! My students aren’t the only ones learning life skills.

LINK TO FULL TEXT

Chapter 1 - Those Three Tiny Words…(just add water)

Exerpts: The rainy season continues, my water supply and road become increasingly unpredictable. Apparently, by rainy season they mean three inches of rain in thirty minutes followed by nothing for the next four days. This might be an isolated incident…

Chapter 2 - Rant #269

Exerpts: I walked back to my house from a lesson a few weeks back there was a student in front of me singing “You’re Still the One”. I have recently been informed that consuming honey after consuming alcohol will result in death…