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Saturday, March 20, 2010

Pictures!

Friday February 19, 2010 7:41pm

Yesterday, at the secondary school, I taught matumizi ya kondomu (how to use condoms) and today I sat by the bed of a fellow teacher at the primary school who is succumbing to complications after a severe stroke earlier this month.

He was the quiet one, who I have only greeted so many times in passing. The only one who didn't ask me millions of questions about just about everything. His was the desk I always sat at because, for some reason, every time I came in the teacher's office he was in the classroom teaching (a rarity in this country). I use past tense, but he is still taking raspy breaths, eyes unfocused, his chest rapidly rising and falling to the beat of a drum somewhere we cannot hear.

I know it's unusual, at my age, to never have had anyone I was close to die. And I was not close to this man, my fellow teacher, either. But to see him laying so vulnerably indented into the thin mattress, it tears at your heart. Knowing he is so far away from anything that could be called healthcare. His wife said she wants him to die in his home.

The dispensary doctor saw him today. He said it was 'pressure' referring to blood pressure, one of the many one-stop-answers on the list of diagnosis' here in Tanzania. If you have any pain, diarrhea, stomach problems, or sickness, the first culprit is malaria. A shoulder ache, I was just told by a friend yesterday, was malaria for sure.

Then we move on to a cough - which is inevitably pneumonia. Fever and sore throat are also pneumonia.

And then we have the third catch-all for anyone over 45yrs - pressure.

My all-time favorite diagnosis - perhaps because it was given to me: I had a headache (which I get all the time because the blazing sun) but this one was accompanied by the beginning of a sore throat (what one might attribute to a common cold, or in my case, just stress and not enough sleep). The doctor happened to walk by my doorway when I was playing with the kids, and saw my rather pained expression. I told him my symptoms (headache, slightly sore throat) his answer: tonsillitis.

The kids (the secondary school ones), by the way, LOVED the condom demonstration. And I rather enjoyed giving it, in spite of myself. One of the teachers helped, thank heavens, a temporary teacher who will sadly be leaving next week to return to college.

I teach Forms 1 and 4 one week, then 2 and 3 the following week. So this week I began with form 4. (Form 1 being equivalent to 9th grade)They asked so many questions, that time ran over and we didn't have time left to play the condom game. (a version of 'hot potato' using condoms blown up as balloons with slips of paper inside with questions about condoms and condom usage on them. When the music stops, the person holding the condom-balloon has to pop it and read the question aloud, then answer it.) They wanted to play the game so I told them we'd do it if they could teach their fellow Form 1 students how to properly use condoms (both male and female)

They did such a great job - I would definitely say much better than I did. They were able to explain in more detail things I had struggled with in language, and their peers listened surprisingly well. They could easily answer questions, while that is the HARDEST thing for me. As much Swahili as I know, to understand a shy student mumbling a question using words I probably don't know even if I could hear them - is really hard.

Among other successes, I finished the 4-lesson permaculture classes in one subvillage now. Once I got used to the fact that everyone would show up between a half hour to an hour after the scheduled time, everything went unbelievably smoothly. It was my intention that one person would be chosen by the group to have the 'example garden' which we would create together throughout the lessons. Of their own accord, this group went and dug everyone's garden together in the days between lessons. They have not finished all six, but so far 4 are complete, and they intend to finish all 6 soon, including an accompanying compost pile!

Not everything goes perfectly, though, and in my own subvillage, we have had 2 meetings now with no one showing up, and this past meeting today, before we all went to visit the sick teacher, my counterpart Flora didn't show up, the video wouldn't show on my computer, and the person whose house we were supposed to dig at had not gathered the necessary supplies (composted animal manure (any animal, and they have plenty of them) white ash (which they also have plenty of since they primarily use firewood and charcoal to cook) and charcoal dust) So, after waiting an hour, then going house to house to collect the people one by one myself, when we got to the house to begin the lesson, there was very little for me to teach.

And my lessons at the primary school. Oh. Who knows what I will do. I co-teach with a fellow teacher whom I ADORE. He is a sweet well meaning old man. But he DOES NOT understand the lessons we are teaching. And then the students, in turn, also don't understand the lessons we are teaching. I try to choose the simplest of lessons, and I have spent HOURS explaining to him what we are teaching and how.

Today we 'taught' communication skills. We had an exercise where the teacher had a simple picture he had to explain to the children how to draw. (I provided paper) He explained it (using words) 3 times. The first time he walked into the classroom and faced the chalkboard and spoke quickly. The students weren't allowed to ask questions, and he walked out. The second time they were allowed to ask questions, he faced the class, and he explained more slowly, but did not answer the questions. The third time he went student to student and helped them and answered the questions and gave praise. The students were then to discern that for good communication, you face the person/people. You ask and answer questions, you give praise, etc (it was more slightly elaborate than that, but you get the idea)

The problem is, after literally more than 2 hours of me explaining what we were teaching, my co-teacher wanted to just draw the picture on the blackboard. I would have been the person coming in and doing the acting myself but I just don't know enough Swahili to explain how to draw a picture well, so I was afraid it'd be skewed.

And after he did the lesson with me slowly walking both HIM and the class through it, when I asked the students to tell me what helped with communication, referring to them understanding how to draw the picture, the first answer I got was to use a phone. The second was newspaper.

I have to find a way to teach these kids!!!

March 10, 2010 7:31pm

A lot of time has passed since this last entry, partially because the events that occurred in between needed space to process and understand before I was fully ready to lay them out in the public eye.

Shortly after I completed writing the previous entry, I heard the blow of a horn. Without being followed by the voice of the town crier, the sound signifies a death in the village. I found out the next morning that very literally within a minute after I left the room, my fellow teacher and neighbor succumbed to his ailments, and stopped breathing. In the following days I was told by neighbors that I was brought out (I left with a group of neighbors) at that time because they knew he was about to die and didn't want to upset me.

After being told that the funeral was the following day, I headed into Same to check my email through a loophole Flora had found for me (without even knowing how to type or use a computer, she can still manage to hook me up with someone she knows who is the manager of the power plant in Same which uses internet to do business) Since I had made an appointment a week previous, and the funeral was the following day, I decided to keep it.

I expected an email from an NGO I wanted to collaborate with to help me with funding/digging a new water bore hole near the secondary school. I didn't receive an email from the NGO. Instead, there was an email informing me that a very dear friend of mine in the US, who was my neighbor growing up, had died of cancer.

Joe Peplinski may you rest in peace.

One of the last things he did before he died, I was told, was go out to buy things to send me a care package. And by judging the date of the email (which I received a few weeks after it was sent b/c I hadn't had access to the net in awhile) the letter I put in the mail to him was posted around the day he died.

I knew that he was sick, I had known a long time, but I never truly understood that he was sick. I did not truly understand life, I had not yet known death.

As I was writing and rewriting a reply to this email, working over the news in my head, Flora had just arrived at the power company to tell me another neighbor had just died of AIDS.

And for a good while the world was hazy.

Though I had seen this man many times and could put a face to the name, we had never spoken more than in greeting, and I did not know he had AIDS. (I don't know if it's wrong of me NOT to stigmatize thin sick looking people?)

4 days 3 deaths 2 funerals. The death of my friend back home overpowered the sorrow of the others lost. Somehow attending the funerals was cathartic. And wrenching. The teacher was young (early 50s) He had many children still at home, his youngest 9 years old. His wife I would guess around 40. The children were inconsolable. They fell to the ground in their anguish.

I allowed myself to cry, although more subtly, with the family, friends, students, fellow teachers, neighbors and villagers and people who had come from as far as Dar es Salaam to mourn. I cried for them all, but most of all thought of my friend back home. Somehow, it allowed me to mourn for all of them together.

Now I have known death.

It's strange how it enforces an immediate acceptance of mortality.

Life is finite.



Both funerals where open casket. Both were catholic. The close women of the family get together in one room where all the furniture is removed and the big woven plastic bags (gunia) that are used to store corn and other things are placed empty on the floor. The women sit up against the wall, silently lining the room with grief. Visitors (primarily women but the occasional male passed through) take off their shoes and work through the room greeting and offering 'pole' or condolences. I sat in this room a bit, as I was invited to by the women at both the funerals. There is a book and a type of 'offering bowl' that is passed around in the room, as well as throughout the crowd. In the book you write your name and the amount of money or the item you have brought in offering to help the family. It is custom to always give something, no matter how little.

Outside under whatever shade available or is set up in a haphazard manner, women sit and talk quietly separately from men. Women cook food in huge pots over fires, and before the service, everyone is served a large meal. In both cases this included pilau (a rice dish made with meat - either cow or goat - fried onions and spices and oil) and rice and beans. (yes rice with rice.)

The Catholic priest presided over both services. I do not know if it was a typical Catholic funeral service because I have never been to one before. The casket was opened and all the guests where led past to take a last look before the burial. While the preservation techniques are not as affective as what might be done in the US, it was not grotesque, just intensely upsetting. I do not know if I would ever want an open casket funeral. I guess it's not my choice though, as I will be dead.

Once the whole procession of guests are led through, women and children first, men carry the casket to a space behind the house (this all takes place at the house of the deceased) where a hole has already been dug. The men stand forward at this time, and the women create a semi-circle behind as the casket is lowered in and covered in soil. During the procession and the burial, the women sing.

After burying the casket, a short history of the deceased is read.

And then people disperse.

Women close to the family stay around to help clean up. Neighbors and friends visit every day for weeks to help cook, clean, and take care of the needs of the family, bringing food and water and whatever else need be.

The week that followed was strained. I was already overscheduled and everything I did felt tainted by sadness. I kept moving forward.

That Thursday a good friend arrived to visit me who lives in southern Tanzania, close enough to throw stones into Mozambique. I greatly appreciated her presence.

That following weekend many of my fellow volunteers (including my good friend from the south) ran in the Kilimanjaro Marathon.

I did my fair share of the work in supporting them wholeheartedly with screaming, cheering, clapping, and carrying all their crap. I also took tons of pictures which where subsequently eaten by a glitch in my friend's camera.

Which is unbelievably unfortunate.

But more importantly, they all finished in good time, and we all had a good time, and it was good to be thoroughly distracted for just a short while.

In the meantime, I have finished as of today, teaching permaculture gardening to 2 small groups (6-7ppl each) in 2 subvillages. So far, every single member of both groups has either completed or is in the process of creating a permaculture garden.

The first group finished their gardens about 3 weeks ago now, and they already have flowers on their tomato plants, and are harvesting and selling(!) mchiche (local greens) in large quantities, amongst other beautiful vegetable successes. Other neighbors are coming to see their gardens, which are producing in quantity now with the one brief rainfall we have gotten since they planted together with the small amount of water that was carried in buckets from the bomba (distribution point of gravity water that originates in our forest on top of the mountain) They are asking questions and becoming interested in using the same techniques to make gardens of their own! This, dare I say without jinxing myself, is very close to a 100% success rate. Tomorrow, after teaching at the secondary school, I will be going to a farther subvillage to teach their very first lesson: nutrition (basically a balanced meal) and the basics of the garden.

It is my intention to teach small groups within each subvillage so that they become teachers then themselves and teach others. Since the lessons are practical - we actually dig a garden completely at one group members' house - it is necessary that the groups be small. It also allows the groups to help one another in purchasing seeds, teaching other people the gardening methods, and generally supporting one another. The more people, the less cohesive the group.

But I am getting tired and just rambling now. I will leave you all here until I have the time and mental clarity and control of the English language (sometimes I have Swahili days) to continue on. (9:09pm)


Tuesday, March 16, 2010 1:22pm

It is RAINING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh how I love the rain.

(that's all, work to be done now)