Tanzanian Days

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