Thursday, May 28, 2009
Approaching break
Just a short update to let you all know I'm still here. School break starts in about a week and a half, after two more days of teaching followed by a week of exams. Teaching wise, it's been a long but good term. I finally feel like my students understand what I want from them, and that they trust me to know what I'm doing. Plus, I finally do feel comfortable here--Tanzania really does feel like home these days. I'll be traveling for much of the month of June (I do need the break from my village), but I'm looking forward to continuing my teaching in July. More blog updates coming as soon as break starts!
Friday, May 1, 2009
Nyoka
[note: sorry to snake-lovers out there--there's significant violence to snakes in this entry. Killing snakes is a normal part of Tanzanian culture, probably because there are so many poisonous snakes in this country. It's just assumed that if you see a snake, the next step you take is to kill it].
There are very few things that terrify me. Lots of things make me nervous, and lots of things give me stress, but very few things set my heart pounding to the point where I can't think clearly.
Snakes are one of those things.
Tanzania has many, many species of snakes, several of which are poisonous. Yet in first year and a half in Tanzania, I managed not to run into any of them. During this time my friends were killing snakes with iron bars in their gardens, and pushing them into buckets with pieces of hose in their hallways...but I lived blissfully snake-free. That changed yesterday.
I was cleaning my spare bedroom in preparation for some guests that are coming this weekend. It's not a room I clean very often. I store books and papers on the bed, and backpacks full of more papers on the floor. Plus there's a pile of cardboard boxes under the bed. If I were a snake, I'd think of it as the perfect room to hide in.
It was about six in the evening, and I had my radio on to my favorite VOA music request show. I had moved the bed out of the way so I could start sweeping. I was just picking up the pile of cardboard from under the bed when I noticed something moving in the place where the cardboard had been.
Nyoka!
Now, before you start worrying too much for me, this snake was really small. Probably about the length of a computer keyboard. And it was thin, too. Honestly, it looked a whole lot like the garden snakes I used to see in my backyard at home.
But this is Tanzania, not Massachusetts. I don't know if this snake is poisonous. I have no idea what kind of snake it is.
If I leave my house to get help, it might go hide in the pile of junk in my room. I'll spend the next week on edge, expecting to run into it every time I pick up something from the floor.
But can I really deal with it myself?
My heart is pounding at this point. I'm thinking of all sorts of schemes, from killing it with my hoe to somehow forcing it into a bucket. I bring a bucket into the room for the purpose, then decide it's too narrow throw over the snake. I bring my hoe into the room and wonder what the metal blade will do to my concrete floor. Plus, this is something that requires resolve. If I decide to kill the snake, I need to put all my effort into it. I can't start to hit it with the hoe, then pull my arm back. I need to hit it, and hit it hard, on the first blow.
One part of my brain tells me I have the ability to do this. Another part tells me I don't have to. Tanzanians are really, really good at killing snakes.
So I throw a basin over the snake to keep in from finding another spot to hide, and go over to a neighbor's house. Samweli is lying on the couch, asleep with the flu.
"Samweli, Samweli. Samahani. How are you feeling? You probably shouldn't go anywhere, you're sick, but...there's a snake in my house."
"Nyoka? There's a snake?" Samweli is suddenly wide awake and out of bed. There's nothing like the word 'nyoka' to wake someone up in Tanzania.
We go over to my house, where I hand Samweli the large stick I use to harvest papayas. It looks like I'll get the job of pulling off the basin, while Samweli braces himself with the stick. I yank the basin away and jump back.
Nothing.
Well, not nothing. There's a broom under the basin as well. And maybe the snake is under the broom.
Samweli pushes the broom away. There's the snake, moving past in panic. Samweli starts hitting.
Whack! Whack! The snake is angry now, and trying to jump. Fortunately that's really hard on a slippery concrete floor. After what seems like far too long, but was probably only five or six whacks, the snake is dead. We put it out in the compost pit in my garden.
All right, I want to know. "Samweli, is this snake poisonous?"
"Ndiyo, ina sumu kali sana." Yes, it has very strong poison.
Hmm. Good to know. I return to my house and clean my room really, really well. From now on, I'm going to store as little on the floor as possible. And keep a big stick around, just in case.
There are very few things that terrify me. Lots of things make me nervous, and lots of things give me stress, but very few things set my heart pounding to the point where I can't think clearly.
Snakes are one of those things.
Tanzania has many, many species of snakes, several of which are poisonous. Yet in first year and a half in Tanzania, I managed not to run into any of them. During this time my friends were killing snakes with iron bars in their gardens, and pushing them into buckets with pieces of hose in their hallways...but I lived blissfully snake-free. That changed yesterday.
I was cleaning my spare bedroom in preparation for some guests that are coming this weekend. It's not a room I clean very often. I store books and papers on the bed, and backpacks full of more papers on the floor. Plus there's a pile of cardboard boxes under the bed. If I were a snake, I'd think of it as the perfect room to hide in.
It was about six in the evening, and I had my radio on to my favorite VOA music request show. I had moved the bed out of the way so I could start sweeping. I was just picking up the pile of cardboard from under the bed when I noticed something moving in the place where the cardboard had been.
Nyoka!
Now, before you start worrying too much for me, this snake was really small. Probably about the length of a computer keyboard. And it was thin, too. Honestly, it looked a whole lot like the garden snakes I used to see in my backyard at home.
But this is Tanzania, not Massachusetts. I don't know if this snake is poisonous. I have no idea what kind of snake it is.
If I leave my house to get help, it might go hide in the pile of junk in my room. I'll spend the next week on edge, expecting to run into it every time I pick up something from the floor.
But can I really deal with it myself?
My heart is pounding at this point. I'm thinking of all sorts of schemes, from killing it with my hoe to somehow forcing it into a bucket. I bring a bucket into the room for the purpose, then decide it's too narrow throw over the snake. I bring my hoe into the room and wonder what the metal blade will do to my concrete floor. Plus, this is something that requires resolve. If I decide to kill the snake, I need to put all my effort into it. I can't start to hit it with the hoe, then pull my arm back. I need to hit it, and hit it hard, on the first blow.
One part of my brain tells me I have the ability to do this. Another part tells me I don't have to. Tanzanians are really, really good at killing snakes.
So I throw a basin over the snake to keep in from finding another spot to hide, and go over to a neighbor's house. Samweli is lying on the couch, asleep with the flu.
"Samweli, Samweli. Samahani. How are you feeling? You probably shouldn't go anywhere, you're sick, but...there's a snake in my house."
"Nyoka? There's a snake?" Samweli is suddenly wide awake and out of bed. There's nothing like the word 'nyoka' to wake someone up in Tanzania.
We go over to my house, where I hand Samweli the large stick I use to harvest papayas. It looks like I'll get the job of pulling off the basin, while Samweli braces himself with the stick. I yank the basin away and jump back.
Nothing.
Well, not nothing. There's a broom under the basin as well. And maybe the snake is under the broom.
Samweli pushes the broom away. There's the snake, moving past in panic. Samweli starts hitting.
Whack! Whack! The snake is angry now, and trying to jump. Fortunately that's really hard on a slippery concrete floor. After what seems like far too long, but was probably only five or six whacks, the snake is dead. We put it out in the compost pit in my garden.
All right, I want to know. "Samweli, is this snake poisonous?"
"Ndiyo, ina sumu kali sana." Yes, it has very strong poison.
Hmm. Good to know. I return to my house and clean my room really, really well. From now on, I'm going to store as little on the floor as possible. And keep a big stick around, just in case.
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