Jen has added more pictures!
SO many pictures that she had to open a new album for the overflow!
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Monday, April 11, 2011
Monday, February 28, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011 8:34pm
Today I had 6 mangoes for dinner. I didn’t feel like cooking, and mangoes are delicious.
Yesterday I went into the Masai Steppe, just over the mountain and down the road a bit from my village, to a Masai Village whose name I could not even begin to spell because it is in their language. I went with some sisters (the Catholic kind) from an NGO called Grail. They appear to do all sorts of wonderful work (as well as spreading Catholicism in an interestingly competitive environment with the Lutherans) including helping fund infrastructure of water and schools, as well as IGAs (income generating activitys), and health and community development projects.
We went in their truck (it’s always such a luxury to be in a car and have a whole seat to myself!) and appeared to randomly make our way through the brush and scrub until we miraculously found our way to a GIANT boabab tree (Swahili Mbuyu, Kipare – Hemramba) If the name doesn’t ring a bell, it’s one of those giant trees that have a huge trunk and are often considered symbolic of Africa. Apparently, out here in the steppe – which is a flat expanse of red dirt littered with thorny bushes of all different sizes and types of thorn, each village manages to have at least one boabab under which all it’s meetings are held. This is a helpful source of shade in the otherwise unbearable sun.
The Masai are one of the last tribes in Africa that maintain completely their separate tribal identity as well as their traditional ancestral culture. There are many modern conveniences that they adopt without hesitation, including cellphones and modern transportation. One thing that they have decidedly not changed is their dress, which consists of draped fabric in the colors of blue and red and some shades there within, sometimes also including orange (on top – in the shirt area) and purple (on the bottom – in the pants/skirt area) and patterns generally staying within a checkered or blocked print. I very commonly find myself squished next to a masai on a daladala who is draped in their traditional dress and carrying a staff (they are all traditionally cow herders) while talking on their cellphone. (they smell very strongly of milk, because cow milk and cow meat are their primary foods, and historically they ate very little else) It is an interesting mixture of traditional lifestyle and modern convenience.
But to return to the Boabab tree. The lesson for today is actually a review of information that has been discussed in the past. The sisters have been working in this village for 12 years now. Their PRIMARY goal is to stop FGM (female genital mutilation, Kiswahili – ukeketaje). At the moment, every single girl in the tribe is cut (per se, mutilated) ritually around the age of 3 – 5 years. The villagers who have gathered for the meeting, a mixture of young women and their babies (every single one had a baby on their boob) and elder men (no male youth) easily put together a list of the dangers associated with FGM. But they were able to put together an even more comprehensive list of why it was continued.
This list included: It’s a reason for relatives to get together to eat and have a party.
It was actually one of the first things mentioned.
The list becomes more confusing and harrowing as you continue. Things like, if the girl is not cut she will never turn into a women (ie – go through puberty) Her child will be born still-born. Etc. Etc.
Looking out over that field of faces, 90% of the meeting was women, I know every one of them had been cut in this harrowing ritual where they are beat if they cry out in pain.
It makes you wonder. Shudder in horror, and confusion. Why?
I look at the little babies feeding at their mother’s breasts. They look like normal healthy babies, happy, laughing, cranky, crying, squirming, crawling babylike babies. But then I look into the eyes of those mothers, tired and shy, subdued, resigned.
It is still practiced in Masai culture, if a man who has wealth passes by a pregnant woman whose unborn child is known to be female (how they know I am not sure) he can claim that child to be his wife. When she is 12 (that’s twelve – I didn’t mistype) she will go to live with her husband (who is now, mind you, 12 years older than he was when he claimed her and also already has a few other wives). It is supposed to be so he can ‘look after her upbringing and take care of her’ but as I am told by both the Masai women and the catholic sisters, many of them are pregnant by 14.
Sitting, standing, huddled in small circles of friends you can see their figures are somehow slightly deformed, by their diet primarily of milk (usually only the men have the privilege of eating meat) they are tall and thin, slightly sunken from a lifetime of malnutrition.
Of the group 45 who gathered for the meeting, only 4 could write their name, none of them women.
For twelve years the sisters have been coming. They brought a company who drilled a groundwater well to provide safe drinking water for the village. They helped build a classroom when the school was built, they brought in a machine that mills corn into flour, and built a building where a womens’ group started up a small store. The also started up a preschool which finally fell apart due to lack of attendance as well as an adult education school teaching reading and writing and Kiswahili (many of the villagers, primarily the women, know only kimasai – the language of the masai- which is a beautiful lyrical sound which I don’t even know if I could make come from my mouth if I tried. It is not Bantu (as Kiswahili and Kipare are) and therefore even Tanzanians find it difficult to grasp)
The adult education program was stopped as well due to lack of attendance.
It is difficult to know what to do in this situation. The Masai have been forced for the most part into a more sedentary lifestyle (they are traditionally nomads as they tend their herds of cows) by the TZ government in order that their children receive a primary education which is mandatory by law for every able child (disabled children can go to school until it is decided they aren’t keeping up or learning anymore and then they are just returned home. There are special schools in the cities but they are not government and therefore cost money, not to mention transportation, and are therefore generally inaccessible.)
The Masai have been taught to farm – which is a new and uncomfortable work for them. Sadly, in our area the farming education was brought in around the same time the rains began to fail and the Masai have all but given up on this labor intensive project that they see very little if any profit from. I have been told that it has, at least, improved their diets by bringing in corn and beans as more acceptable foods in their diet, to the point that they now purchase corn flour (to make ugali) in the markets.
Who are we to tell them to change?
Do they want to change?
Are they HAPPY?
What is HAPPY anyway?
The mothers/women are the ones who are receptive to the education. They have tried to change the diets of their children, they send their children to school, and they go to church. According to the sisters, the church is full of women every Sunday, and about 3 men sit at the side. Generally the men are not receptive at all of changes to the traditional Masai life.
Even at the meeting the only men who came were a few elders, who sat in the back and barely spoke up – unless directly asked questions and even then preferred silence.
At the end I stood up and gave a little talk, something that you become used to after awhile because it is asked of you at pretty much any event, funerals, weddings, government meetings, graduations, you name it – I have given a short talk at it.
And after I sat down they presented me with a beautiful gift – a beaded cross necklace (msalaba) decorated in the traditional masai fashion. (pictures will be posted when I get up to Moshi again)
They want me to come again, to teach them something, and I wrack my brains for what to teach them. My little talk was about change, because the world around them is changing, the weather in particular, their herds are dying and their wealth is shrinking rapidly (as their herds are their only source of wealth) I talked about how in the past there were no cars and we walked to get places, but now we use cars and we can get even farther, see more places, meet different people, etc. And in the past to send messages you sent by word of mouth, person to person, until it reached its’ destination (as they don’t write much, they don’t send letters) now they can speak directly to the person using a phone.
What I WANT to teach about is gender roles. Do an exercise which labels each activity with a gender than discusses whether the other gender is ABLE to to it (could do it) and then discuss whether they SHOULD do it – and why. It opens up dialogue, sets things moving in peoples’ heads. Because it wouldn’t work to go straight in and say men should help women do laundry, wash dishes, and bath the children. But to allow people to realize that both sexes are ABLE to do the labor, along with comparing the burden of labor the mothers carry versus the fathers, it can begin the wheels that will eventually lead them to change.
But some part of me really wonders if this tribe has held so tightly and dear to their traditions for so long, many of which I find abhorable, although many more I find fascinating and beautiful, whether it really is my place to stick my head in and change them. Create them in my image?
They are some interesting catholic-masai culture now.
They believe in God and Jesus and the earth and their cows. But not in that order.
Sunday, February 27, 2011 11:39am
I have had a lot more time to think about the Masai culture, as I continue my insanely busy schedule.
I have come to this conclusion:
Life in Africa is hard. There is physical and emotional pain. There is death. There is violence and corruption. There are limited resources and an ever growing population.
The Masai culture has adapted, if not embraced, that undeniable truth and created a system of rituals to harden their tribe members in order to survive, if not thrive, in this difficult environment.
From the age of a young child there is ritual branding. This is pain, you will feel pain in your life, it is like this. When a baby, or child, or adult is very sick, some Masai tribes still practice the ritual of leaving the sick person far out in the steppe to die. Death happens. Accept it, you will die, I will die, we will all die.
It is an unforgiving culture. It is a culture bent of survival. Some tribes still regularly steal cattle from neighboring villages. I have met people who have been badly injured by Masai for trying to protect their crops from being grazed by Masai cattle, or to try to protect their cattle from being stolen. Historically, most tribes in Tanzania were driven into the mountains by the Masai after many years of battle and suffering. The Wapare (or the Pare mountains were I live) and the Wasambaa (of the Usambara mountains south of me) were driven into the mountains many many years ago by the masai. The Masai prefer the flat land of the steppe to graze their cattle.
There are many practices that still don’t make any sense at all to me. Their diet does not provide them health or strength but they continue to primarily subsist on cow’s milk. They have access to modern medicines as well as education on disease prevention (most pointedly mosquito nets) but do not embrace these changes.
I do not know what makes cars and cellphones ok, but food and medicine not.
Maybe I will be able to learn more when I visit them again.
Today I had 6 mangoes for dinner. I didn’t feel like cooking, and mangoes are delicious.
Yesterday I went into the Masai Steppe, just over the mountain and down the road a bit from my village, to a Masai Village whose name I could not even begin to spell because it is in their language. I went with some sisters (the Catholic kind) from an NGO called Grail. They appear to do all sorts of wonderful work (as well as spreading Catholicism in an interestingly competitive environment with the Lutherans) including helping fund infrastructure of water and schools, as well as IGAs (income generating activitys), and health and community development projects.
We went in their truck (it’s always such a luxury to be in a car and have a whole seat to myself!) and appeared to randomly make our way through the brush and scrub until we miraculously found our way to a GIANT boabab tree (Swahili Mbuyu, Kipare – Hemramba) If the name doesn’t ring a bell, it’s one of those giant trees that have a huge trunk and are often considered symbolic of Africa. Apparently, out here in the steppe – which is a flat expanse of red dirt littered with thorny bushes of all different sizes and types of thorn, each village manages to have at least one boabab under which all it’s meetings are held. This is a helpful source of shade in the otherwise unbearable sun.
The Masai are one of the last tribes in Africa that maintain completely their separate tribal identity as well as their traditional ancestral culture. There are many modern conveniences that they adopt without hesitation, including cellphones and modern transportation. One thing that they have decidedly not changed is their dress, which consists of draped fabric in the colors of blue and red and some shades there within, sometimes also including orange (on top – in the shirt area) and purple (on the bottom – in the pants/skirt area) and patterns generally staying within a checkered or blocked print. I very commonly find myself squished next to a masai on a daladala who is draped in their traditional dress and carrying a staff (they are all traditionally cow herders) while talking on their cellphone. (they smell very strongly of milk, because cow milk and cow meat are their primary foods, and historically they ate very little else) It is an interesting mixture of traditional lifestyle and modern convenience.
But to return to the Boabab tree. The lesson for today is actually a review of information that has been discussed in the past. The sisters have been working in this village for 12 years now. Their PRIMARY goal is to stop FGM (female genital mutilation, Kiswahili – ukeketaje). At the moment, every single girl in the tribe is cut (per se, mutilated) ritually around the age of 3 – 5 years. The villagers who have gathered for the meeting, a mixture of young women and their babies (every single one had a baby on their boob) and elder men (no male youth) easily put together a list of the dangers associated with FGM. But they were able to put together an even more comprehensive list of why it was continued.
This list included: It’s a reason for relatives to get together to eat and have a party.
It was actually one of the first things mentioned.
The list becomes more confusing and harrowing as you continue. Things like, if the girl is not cut she will never turn into a women (ie – go through puberty) Her child will be born still-born. Etc. Etc.
Looking out over that field of faces, 90% of the meeting was women, I know every one of them had been cut in this harrowing ritual where they are beat if they cry out in pain.
It makes you wonder. Shudder in horror, and confusion. Why?
I look at the little babies feeding at their mother’s breasts. They look like normal healthy babies, happy, laughing, cranky, crying, squirming, crawling babylike babies. But then I look into the eyes of those mothers, tired and shy, subdued, resigned.
It is still practiced in Masai culture, if a man who has wealth passes by a pregnant woman whose unborn child is known to be female (how they know I am not sure) he can claim that child to be his wife. When she is 12 (that’s twelve – I didn’t mistype) she will go to live with her husband (who is now, mind you, 12 years older than he was when he claimed her and also already has a few other wives). It is supposed to be so he can ‘look after her upbringing and take care of her’ but as I am told by both the Masai women and the catholic sisters, many of them are pregnant by 14.
Sitting, standing, huddled in small circles of friends you can see their figures are somehow slightly deformed, by their diet primarily of milk (usually only the men have the privilege of eating meat) they are tall and thin, slightly sunken from a lifetime of malnutrition.
Of the group 45 who gathered for the meeting, only 4 could write their name, none of them women.
For twelve years the sisters have been coming. They brought a company who drilled a groundwater well to provide safe drinking water for the village. They helped build a classroom when the school was built, they brought in a machine that mills corn into flour, and built a building where a womens’ group started up a small store. The also started up a preschool which finally fell apart due to lack of attendance as well as an adult education school teaching reading and writing and Kiswahili (many of the villagers, primarily the women, know only kimasai – the language of the masai- which is a beautiful lyrical sound which I don’t even know if I could make come from my mouth if I tried. It is not Bantu (as Kiswahili and Kipare are) and therefore even Tanzanians find it difficult to grasp)
The adult education program was stopped as well due to lack of attendance.
It is difficult to know what to do in this situation. The Masai have been forced for the most part into a more sedentary lifestyle (they are traditionally nomads as they tend their herds of cows) by the TZ government in order that their children receive a primary education which is mandatory by law for every able child (disabled children can go to school until it is decided they aren’t keeping up or learning anymore and then they are just returned home. There are special schools in the cities but they are not government and therefore cost money, not to mention transportation, and are therefore generally inaccessible.)
The Masai have been taught to farm – which is a new and uncomfortable work for them. Sadly, in our area the farming education was brought in around the same time the rains began to fail and the Masai have all but given up on this labor intensive project that they see very little if any profit from. I have been told that it has, at least, improved their diets by bringing in corn and beans as more acceptable foods in their diet, to the point that they now purchase corn flour (to make ugali) in the markets.
Who are we to tell them to change?
Do they want to change?
Are they HAPPY?
What is HAPPY anyway?
The mothers/women are the ones who are receptive to the education. They have tried to change the diets of their children, they send their children to school, and they go to church. According to the sisters, the church is full of women every Sunday, and about 3 men sit at the side. Generally the men are not receptive at all of changes to the traditional Masai life.
Even at the meeting the only men who came were a few elders, who sat in the back and barely spoke up – unless directly asked questions and even then preferred silence.
At the end I stood up and gave a little talk, something that you become used to after awhile because it is asked of you at pretty much any event, funerals, weddings, government meetings, graduations, you name it – I have given a short talk at it.
And after I sat down they presented me with a beautiful gift – a beaded cross necklace (msalaba) decorated in the traditional masai fashion. (pictures will be posted when I get up to Moshi again)
They want me to come again, to teach them something, and I wrack my brains for what to teach them. My little talk was about change, because the world around them is changing, the weather in particular, their herds are dying and their wealth is shrinking rapidly (as their herds are their only source of wealth) I talked about how in the past there were no cars and we walked to get places, but now we use cars and we can get even farther, see more places, meet different people, etc. And in the past to send messages you sent by word of mouth, person to person, until it reached its’ destination (as they don’t write much, they don’t send letters) now they can speak directly to the person using a phone.
What I WANT to teach about is gender roles. Do an exercise which labels each activity with a gender than discusses whether the other gender is ABLE to to it (could do it) and then discuss whether they SHOULD do it – and why. It opens up dialogue, sets things moving in peoples’ heads. Because it wouldn’t work to go straight in and say men should help women do laundry, wash dishes, and bath the children. But to allow people to realize that both sexes are ABLE to do the labor, along with comparing the burden of labor the mothers carry versus the fathers, it can begin the wheels that will eventually lead them to change.
But some part of me really wonders if this tribe has held so tightly and dear to their traditions for so long, many of which I find abhorable, although many more I find fascinating and beautiful, whether it really is my place to stick my head in and change them. Create them in my image?
They are some interesting catholic-masai culture now.
They believe in God and Jesus and the earth and their cows. But not in that order.
Sunday, February 27, 2011 11:39am
I have had a lot more time to think about the Masai culture, as I continue my insanely busy schedule.
I have come to this conclusion:
Life in Africa is hard. There is physical and emotional pain. There is death. There is violence and corruption. There are limited resources and an ever growing population.
The Masai culture has adapted, if not embraced, that undeniable truth and created a system of rituals to harden their tribe members in order to survive, if not thrive, in this difficult environment.
From the age of a young child there is ritual branding. This is pain, you will feel pain in your life, it is like this. When a baby, or child, or adult is very sick, some Masai tribes still practice the ritual of leaving the sick person far out in the steppe to die. Death happens. Accept it, you will die, I will die, we will all die.
It is an unforgiving culture. It is a culture bent of survival. Some tribes still regularly steal cattle from neighboring villages. I have met people who have been badly injured by Masai for trying to protect their crops from being grazed by Masai cattle, or to try to protect their cattle from being stolen. Historically, most tribes in Tanzania were driven into the mountains by the Masai after many years of battle and suffering. The Wapare (or the Pare mountains were I live) and the Wasambaa (of the Usambara mountains south of me) were driven into the mountains many many years ago by the masai. The Masai prefer the flat land of the steppe to graze their cattle.
There are many practices that still don’t make any sense at all to me. Their diet does not provide them health or strength but they continue to primarily subsist on cow’s milk. They have access to modern medicines as well as education on disease prevention (most pointedly mosquito nets) but do not embrace these changes.
I do not know what makes cars and cellphones ok, but food and medicine not.
Maybe I will be able to learn more when I visit them again.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Saturday February 19, 2011 5:37pm
I’ve had a lot of tired days recently. Missing home. Pushing to try to get projects done, wishing I had the ability to do more, and wishing even more I had even one single day to rest.
In these days since I last wrote I received the ok for an additional grant to complete my rainwater catchment tank project – which is fantastic and very unusual. I am pretty sure it’s the first project which has received a ‘budget extension’ as I am calling it, in the history of PC Tanzania. (usually the rule of thumb is get it right the first time and if you screw up – it’s up to the villagers to pick up the slack, which is sortof silly, but I think is to prevent corruption which is such a big problem here in TZ) It is amazing that I got mine passed. I wish I could extend it even more. Build even more rainwater catchment tanks, help even more families obtain access to safe clean water.
But there is only so much one person can do. I was told a few days ago in another meeting that there are only 450 households in this village. Can’t I build each household a tank?
I wish I could.
But for now we’re building 21. 21 3,000 liter tanks. 13 of them have already been completed. They are working as fast as they can to get them all completed before the rainy season comes in full. We just got our first big rain a few days ago which was a blessing because the water in the spring that supplies 3 of 6 subvillages (including mine) had gone dry. Dry meaning no water. No water for almost a week. The 2 subvillages on either side of mine went for about 3 weeks without water, because the water reaches my subvillage first (we’re higher in the mountains) then goes down to the other 2. They were all coming to my subvillage to get water.
What do you do when you have no water? First you don’t bathe (a few swipes with a wet washcloth a day gets it done). Then you stop doing any house cleaning. Can’t really do laundry. You try not to dirty dishes as to have to clean them. But then I am single, I live alone. You can’t not bathe children. You can’t not wash their clothes, especially in a country that has no diapers.
I wrote a proposal to get a groundwater well dug that would be enough for the 3 subvillages that are hardest hit. I took it to Rotary (we have a Rotary Club in Same! Amazing I know!!!!) and they sent it to 2 clubs in the US to hopefully get funding. (IF YOU KNOW ANYONE IN A ROTARY CLUB PLEASE LET ME KNOW – OR ANY OTHER GROUP THAT WOULD HAVE THE AVAILABILITY OF FUNDS TO DIG A GROUNDWATER WELL!!) But it’s an expensive project. And I would want to be here when it is carried out because of the above mentioned corruption that is so prevalent here in Tanzania. So many donors give money that disappears before it reaches the intended beneficiaries. I would say easily 60% of aid doesn’t reach the people. So if a donor was found I would extend my time here long enough to see the project through to completion.
This one big rain that we had the other night also filled to at least half capacity the rainwater catchment tanks that have been completed. The households who were lucky enough to be amongst the first to receive tanks are still using water from one big rainstorm the first week of January. (It hasn’t rained, or even drizzled, or been damp, foggy, muggy, or anything hinting at water in the atmosphere since that first week of January and that was the first rain since the beginning of November)
We are getting huge rainstorms where the whole sky drops and the paths flood and the landscape is carved away once every 2 or three months instead of an actual rainy season in which every day or so it rains and crops can grow and mature. This is global warming. But I digress.
I mentioned before that I have been tired and homesick lately. Mainly just missing the comfort of people that I am familiar with. I miss talking about art. I miss talking about news. I miss talking about all the things that Americans talk about which are NOT the things that Tanzanians talk about. I miss sitting around and chatting and laughing and being with the people I love. I miss you guys.
So today I woke up early to do my laundry before going to my PLWHA Group meeting. I put my Ipod on it’s happy little speaker and put it on a book on tape – The Art of Happiness by The Dalai Lama. I have listened to it over and over and over hoping it would sink in and I would therefore learn to be happy. But you know when you listen to books on tape like this your mind wanders and you find you haven’t been listening for fifteen minutes and someone’s knocking on your door so you turn it off and go to make some tea.
But today I got lucky and the tiny moment I happened to be actually paying attention the author asks the Dalai Lama about loneliness. The Dalai Lama replies that he doesn’t ever feel lonely because he approaches all people with the same openness, seeing every person as wanting to feel accepted and having the same needs and wants as he (I am quoting this badly so I’ll let you guys use your google to get the right quote, as searching in an audiobook isn’t exactly . . . userfriendly.)
And either by luck or by having this thought bouncing around in the back of my head I was able to have a wonderful conversation with a good friend of mine for a few hours in which we talked about – The internet (even though he has never touched a computer) Internet sales (he was flabbergasted) and then drawing into talking about my art, talking about the project that I wanted to do here in Tanzania, why I hadn’t done it yet, what I was afraid of happening, and what my goals would be to do with it. And he understood (with patient explaining) and said he’d help me do it!
It would be amazing. And he’d be the person who’d really be able to understand. He is a member of the Muhama Group (the ones who are building the rainwater tanks) He finished 7th grade with great grades but couldn’t go on to secondary school because there weren’t any close by when he finished – there was only one in the whole district and his parents couldn’t afford to send him to boarding. But he’s a smart guy and he’s determined to keep learning. He’s more intuitive and ‘worldly’ than most others in the village, either by luck of experience or by his curiosity of the world and drive to keep learning.
Amusingly I have gotten to the point of explaining things to Tanzanians where I simplify the topic as much as I possibly can and then I explain it over and over in different ways until I get it. This can sometimes take a very long time as the concepts are very foreign to them. With this fellow when I start the second round he’s like ‘ok I got you, no need to repeat yourself!’
Anyways I have been rambling on for awhile now and I should go and make myself some dinner before I get too sleepy and decide to skip it and just go to sleep.
(And, More Pictures!)
I’ve had a lot of tired days recently. Missing home. Pushing to try to get projects done, wishing I had the ability to do more, and wishing even more I had even one single day to rest.
In these days since I last wrote I received the ok for an additional grant to complete my rainwater catchment tank project – which is fantastic and very unusual. I am pretty sure it’s the first project which has received a ‘budget extension’ as I am calling it, in the history of PC Tanzania. (usually the rule of thumb is get it right the first time and if you screw up – it’s up to the villagers to pick up the slack, which is sortof silly, but I think is to prevent corruption which is such a big problem here in TZ) It is amazing that I got mine passed. I wish I could extend it even more. Build even more rainwater catchment tanks, help even more families obtain access to safe clean water.
But there is only so much one person can do. I was told a few days ago in another meeting that there are only 450 households in this village. Can’t I build each household a tank?
I wish I could.
But for now we’re building 21. 21 3,000 liter tanks. 13 of them have already been completed. They are working as fast as they can to get them all completed before the rainy season comes in full. We just got our first big rain a few days ago which was a blessing because the water in the spring that supplies 3 of 6 subvillages (including mine) had gone dry. Dry meaning no water. No water for almost a week. The 2 subvillages on either side of mine went for about 3 weeks without water, because the water reaches my subvillage first (we’re higher in the mountains) then goes down to the other 2. They were all coming to my subvillage to get water.
What do you do when you have no water? First you don’t bathe (a few swipes with a wet washcloth a day gets it done). Then you stop doing any house cleaning. Can’t really do laundry. You try not to dirty dishes as to have to clean them. But then I am single, I live alone. You can’t not bathe children. You can’t not wash their clothes, especially in a country that has no diapers.
I wrote a proposal to get a groundwater well dug that would be enough for the 3 subvillages that are hardest hit. I took it to Rotary (we have a Rotary Club in Same! Amazing I know!!!!) and they sent it to 2 clubs in the US to hopefully get funding. (IF YOU KNOW ANYONE IN A ROTARY CLUB PLEASE LET ME KNOW – OR ANY OTHER GROUP THAT WOULD HAVE THE AVAILABILITY OF FUNDS TO DIG A GROUNDWATER WELL!!) But it’s an expensive project. And I would want to be here when it is carried out because of the above mentioned corruption that is so prevalent here in Tanzania. So many donors give money that disappears before it reaches the intended beneficiaries. I would say easily 60% of aid doesn’t reach the people. So if a donor was found I would extend my time here long enough to see the project through to completion.
This one big rain that we had the other night also filled to at least half capacity the rainwater catchment tanks that have been completed. The households who were lucky enough to be amongst the first to receive tanks are still using water from one big rainstorm the first week of January. (It hasn’t rained, or even drizzled, or been damp, foggy, muggy, or anything hinting at water in the atmosphere since that first week of January and that was the first rain since the beginning of November)
We are getting huge rainstorms where the whole sky drops and the paths flood and the landscape is carved away once every 2 or three months instead of an actual rainy season in which every day or so it rains and crops can grow and mature. This is global warming. But I digress.
I mentioned before that I have been tired and homesick lately. Mainly just missing the comfort of people that I am familiar with. I miss talking about art. I miss talking about news. I miss talking about all the things that Americans talk about which are NOT the things that Tanzanians talk about. I miss sitting around and chatting and laughing and being with the people I love. I miss you guys.
So today I woke up early to do my laundry before going to my PLWHA Group meeting. I put my Ipod on it’s happy little speaker and put it on a book on tape – The Art of Happiness by The Dalai Lama. I have listened to it over and over and over hoping it would sink in and I would therefore learn to be happy. But you know when you listen to books on tape like this your mind wanders and you find you haven’t been listening for fifteen minutes and someone’s knocking on your door so you turn it off and go to make some tea.
But today I got lucky and the tiny moment I happened to be actually paying attention the author asks the Dalai Lama about loneliness. The Dalai Lama replies that he doesn’t ever feel lonely because he approaches all people with the same openness, seeing every person as wanting to feel accepted and having the same needs and wants as he (I am quoting this badly so I’ll let you guys use your google to get the right quote, as searching in an audiobook isn’t exactly . . . userfriendly.)
And either by luck or by having this thought bouncing around in the back of my head I was able to have a wonderful conversation with a good friend of mine for a few hours in which we talked about – The internet (even though he has never touched a computer) Internet sales (he was flabbergasted) and then drawing into talking about my art, talking about the project that I wanted to do here in Tanzania, why I hadn’t done it yet, what I was afraid of happening, and what my goals would be to do with it. And he understood (with patient explaining) and said he’d help me do it!
It would be amazing. And he’d be the person who’d really be able to understand. He is a member of the Muhama Group (the ones who are building the rainwater tanks) He finished 7th grade with great grades but couldn’t go on to secondary school because there weren’t any close by when he finished – there was only one in the whole district and his parents couldn’t afford to send him to boarding. But he’s a smart guy and he’s determined to keep learning. He’s more intuitive and ‘worldly’ than most others in the village, either by luck of experience or by his curiosity of the world and drive to keep learning.
Amusingly I have gotten to the point of explaining things to Tanzanians where I simplify the topic as much as I possibly can and then I explain it over and over in different ways until I get it. This can sometimes take a very long time as the concepts are very foreign to them. With this fellow when I start the second round he’s like ‘ok I got you, no need to repeat yourself!’
Anyways I have been rambling on for awhile now and I should go and make myself some dinner before I get too sleepy and decide to skip it and just go to sleep.
(And, More Pictures!)
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Friday, November 19, 2010 7:16pm
There is this phenomenon here in Tanzania which drives me absolutely batty. In a normal conversation when I meet someone they always, of course, ask me where I am from. I would say about the third of the time they then have some anecdote about life in America that is almost always inaccurate. (very sadly so – though usually it is associated with the fact that they think America is in Europe, or directly confuse it with Germany, Norway, or recently even more oddly, Arabic countries)
Sometimes it is as simple as saying, “Oh, it’s always so cold there!” which is only inaccurate because the US is large and has many seasons and climates. Some places actually are cold, and a lot are during parts of the year. The frustrating, or dare I say infuriating thing is that when it is something that is much more inaccurate, like, say, all people who live in Miami are addicted to drugs and prostitutes (all, she was not allowing for even a single sober soul), or that Americans only marry within contracts (more on this later) For some unknown reason instead of accepting the truth being told by an actual American who was born and raised there, they fight the point! They insist that whatever misinformed fact they hold dear is indeed the truth and the only truth and nothing I can say will convince them otherwise.
Now we will return to this marriage by contract. According to a large number of Tanzanians, both villagers right here in my village and people who live in cities, Moshi, even Dar, have this strange notion that Americans marry for a contract of 5 years at which point (after these 5 years) the marriage is absolved and they are single again to go marry someone else. Has ANYONE ever heard of such a thing? I hadn’t until I got here, to Tanzania, and had person after person after person argue with me that Americans practice this institution of marriage. I can discuss the issue for over an hour with someone (we have long bus rides in this country) and at the end they are still insisting on their superior knowledge of my homeland and our cultural practices. Perhaps it is so bothersome because the insistence in this case and most other cases where they are bound and determined to hold their ground, is them trying to insist that the culture of Americans is immoral and despicable.
But on to other things. I have been very busy, as is usual, I guess. But finally, things are actually getting done. We built our first rainwater catchment tank last week and it is already almost half full of water with these very late very torrential downpours we have had these past few days. I will be meeting with the group to discuss the schedule of the project tomorrow as delays in grant processing caused the inconvenience of our work schedule to be right on top of farming season. But we will get it done. The group is so excited about the first tank (and so am I!) and are willing to keep putting in the work to keep the project moving. One tank completed, 19 to go! Each tank takes a week and after we get the hang of it we’re hoping to have 2 separate teams working on 2 tanks every week.
It’s been a lot a lot of work and no play recently. My time here is slipping away quickly all the sudden, and I feel compelled to get everything I absolutely can done. Which is a lot, but never seems like enough. There is still some other project on the sidelines, neglected. So much I could do in another year, but my student loans loom over my head, and soon I’ll be returning to the motherland to get a job and learn what new technological gadgets have overtaken society since I left. And what change, I am sure both good and bad, has been made by the Obama administration.
The village has become home and I have found my place in it. There are people I am completely comfortable with and people I avoid like the plague. It is sad to me that so many of the people I feel that I need to avoid live in close distance to my house. To clarify, I do not avoid them for any safety reasons, but only for peace of mind. There are, of course, those who are angry that I did not come to their house and teach them, individually, English. Or build them a new clinic (Peace Corps has a policy of not building buildings). Or pay their kids’ tuition. They are angry that I have worked with groups and they somehow think that I gave these groups money (white person means money) and that they didn’t get any. (despite the fact that I have welcomed them many times to join these groups!)
So I just sort of stay away from them.
January 13, 2011 7:35pm
Today I climbed over a few mountains to a village about 4hrs away, way up in the mountains but not so far away that when we were at the tippy top we could still see Same town and the Massai steppe in it’s orange red flatness extending into the horizon. The village I went to was like another world. On the top of a mountain there were banana and avocado trees, coffee, potatos and another potato like plant that they love here, and the usual corn and beans brushed through with gentle cool breezes. What was even more amazing was walking down muddy paths when my village just a short hop over some mountains hasn’t gotten any rain since mid December (this should be the middle of our rainy season?) It was paradise. It was beautiful.
Then myself and a member of my HIV/AIDs group carried back 3 four month old milk goats. We pushed them a bit, and pulled them a bit, but since their whole life they lived in a banda and only came out a few hours each day to play, they were not used to the walking. And so we carried them a lot.
Goats are heavy. But we had a good time. And they are beautiful goats and they will give 3 more families access to nutritious goat milk as well as profit from selling the milk and the baby goats.
Along the road we met a few people who didn’t seem to mind helping us carry the goats which was helpful there being 3 goats and 2 people. They even went out of their way to help us and then retracing their steps to reach their destination.
These goats will finish (I hope) the milk goat project that I am doing with my HIV group. It has been a rocky road, with Flora and I reminding each other over and over and over binadamu ni binadamu (translated directly people are people but really means people are only human) because as we have trudged so slowly to try to get through this milk goat project done. Right after we got the first batch of goats they decided they wanted, instead, chickens. Well, not even, it turns out, instead, but also. And the conversation goes like this. “Jen, we were thinking - we want chickens.” “We haven’t even finished the goat project yet, we should see how things go because this one project is a lot of work for us and could get a lot of great results.” “But we want chickens” “You said you wanted goats” “We also want chickens. We’re not worried, we know you’ll bring us chickens.”
They got nice, half caste/some full breed modern milk goats. Expensive milk goats, and supplies to help build them bandas and a full day seminar on their care and enough medicine for the first 6 months of their care.
But they want chickens. I just can’t even grasp the concept since every single person, even the poorest person in the whole village has CHICKENS. (except me, who even if I go vegetarian will allow chickens in my diet as I see they have as much brains as the average edible vegetation)
And just to clarify, they where the ones who came to me in the first place and asked to do the milk goat project, which we planned every detail together.
But I am home now. My house is a disaster because after my brother left (he visited me – which was awesome – more on that later!) and I went to Mtwara to visit other volunteers (for those too lazy to look on a map – it’s the region that borders Mozambique but also still on the ocean) the day I got back I had people stalking my house looking for me and have been going like crazy ever since. I actually did my laundry when I got home at 9pm. In the near dark. Which is, in case you’re wondering, really difficult.
On that note I’ve gotten 2 visitors since I started writing this and it’s almost 10pm and that’s my bedtime in case your wondering.
So I’ll cut this short so I can actually post it instead of this other November post that hung around on my computer in limbo for 2 months because I was interrupted mid-writing and then got SUPER busy.
So
Good night
Usiku Mwema (Kiswahili) Ooo See Koo Mweh ma
Kio Chedi (Kipare) Kee Oh Che dee
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