Kuuliza si ujinga

Computer problems

2009-11-14T01:19:00.000-08:00

While I was typing the last two entries, the following problems occurred:
-the keyboard on my computer stopped working. I had to save the half-finished donkey entry and move to another computer.
-an internet cafe employee scanned a document using my computer (I had been moved to an employee computer when my keyboard broke)
-the electricity went out for a minute, then came back on. Or maybe the generator kicked in.

Ah, computers in Tanzania. Things will seem far too smooth and simple when I go home.

Biology scavenger hunt

2009-11-14T01:03:00.000-08:00

This year, I set up the national exam practicals for biology. One month before the exam, I received the following advance instructions. (these are excerpts, the instructions also included chemicals and lab apparatus)

BIOLOGY PRACTICAL 2A
Specimens:
Each student must be provided with a liver fluke.

BIOLOGY PRACTICAL 2B
Specimens:
Each student must be provided with:
-a lizard (may be shared by several students)
-a centipede
-a hibiscus leaf
-a cypress branch
-a scapula bone
-radius and ulna bones
-a rib bone

I nearly panicked at these instructions. A liver fluke? What's a liver fluke? What's a cypress tree? How am I going to get enough scapula bones to put one on each table in the lab?

Tanzania has no biological supply houses. You can't just fill out an order for 15 liver flukes, 8 scapula bones, and 4 centipedes. You have to find everything yourself: in short, you go on a scavenger hunt. A scavenger hunt where the stakes are the students' exam scores and possibly their educational futures.

Okay, liver flukes. Liver flukes are parasites that live in livestock livers, specifically in the gall ducts. Apparently, the cows in my district are not infected with liver flukes. So, where to get them?

Try one: the headmaster's cow is being slaughtered for school graduation celebrations. I talk to the students doing the slaughtering and ask them to take a look at the liver. I also put an order in for ribs and scapula bones. I end up with two small, immature liver flukes and seven ribs covered with rotting meet (I received them three days after the celebrations, due to poorly timed travelling on my part). The scapulas were somehow lost. But I did get two from a goat that was slaughtered for another graduation party.

Try two: talk to friends. I have a friend in town, a biology and chemistry teacher who is super-enthusiastic about practicals. He runs the district branch of the Tanzanian science teachers' association, and has hosted several workshops training the local teachers to use the labs. He also has connections. I initially got two liver flukes from him, and got eight more later.

Try three: the mnaada. The mnaada is a monthly market and livestock auction. It also happens to be two days before the biology exam. I bike to the neighboring village on mnaada day, carrying a small container of formaldehyde tucked in an old powdered milk can. The cows being butchered have liver flukes--lots of them! The butchers initially want to charge me for taking parasitic worms off their hands, but fortunately the district meat inspector intervenes. I split up the liver flukes with some teachers from another secondary school, and end up with enough liver flukes to put out one per student. The mnaada also provides four scapula bones--not quite enough, but maybe the students can share.

As for the rest...I get radius and ulna bones by scavenging wing bones from chickens at lunch time. The lab contains a single dry lizard and a single centipede. There are a few cypress trees in town. Fortunately, hibiscuses grow at the school.

So the practicals went reasonably smoothly. There were some last minute preparations, some rushing around the lab to label things correctly, some quick additions of solutions to student tables. But the specimens were there, and it wasn't a disaster. And now I have 15 liver flukes preserved in formaldehyde for next year.

Still here

2009-11-14T00:47:00.000-08:00

It's been a while since I've posted--a busy few months of national exams and the end of the term. I'll try to make up for it with a series of posts, of which this will be the first.
--
Donkeys

It was the last week of the dry season. My water supplies were running low, despite the presence of two 60-litre buckets, three 20-litre buckets, and three 10-litre buckets in my house. The water wasn't running during mid-day,only at 5 am and occasionally at night. So, around 9 pm, I went out to check on the faucet by my house.

A miracle: the water was running. Slowly, maybe two litres a minute, but it was running. I ran inside to grab my buckets before a student or neighbor heard the water and came to fetch as well. I put a twenty-litre bucket under the faucet, and sat down to wait.

The beautiful sound of water hitting a bucket. Stars filling the sky above. I really don't mind fetching water at night. The school is quiet and peaceful, and the sky is beautiful.

But then, footsteps. Shadows. Something large nearby. Something very large. Or somethings?

I look up to find four donkeys standing in front of me, staring at the water.

At the end of the dry season, farmers just let their livestock wander around the school ground. It's against the rules. They risk a five thousand shilling ($4) fine. But the well-watered school flower beds and teachers' gardens are one of the only sources of food at this time of year. And so, the school grounds fill with donkeys and pigs looking for food.

Apparently, nobody comes to give these donkeys water. The donkeys are staring very thirstily at my bucket.

Hmm. The donkeys are several times stronger than me. The donkeys have sharp hooves. The donkeys could easily kick me and steal my water.

One donkey nudges its companion. The companion takes a step forward.

I take a step forward and stomp my feet. The donkey backs off.

We stare at each other. A donkey steps forward. I stomp my feet; it backs off.

This goes on for several minutes. Donkeys are docile animals; they don't attack me and take the water. But neither do they go away. Finally I get tired of being stared at by donkeys, turn off the faucets, and move inside with my buckets. With no water coming out of the faucets, the donkeys lose interest and walk away. I return to fetch water a few minutes later, while the donkeys eat the school flowerbeds.
--
Rain

After months of the dry season--from May through the end of October--it's finally started raining again. Water is coming out of the faucet reliably. Grass is beginning to sprout. The air smells beautifully of rain. And the desperate feeling of the dry season, of suspended animation, of just getting by, is finally over.

I've never appreciated rain so much.

Two years in Tanzania

2009-09-19T07:40:00.000-07:00

It's been exactly two years since the day I first came to Tanzania.

When I came here, life felt like an adventure. Everything was new, exciting, unpredictable. I was excited to practice my Swahili by talking to the person sitting next to me on the bus, excited and a bit afraid to try the local transportation and to see new parts of the country. Life was hard at times, but at the end of the day, I always had a good story.

Now, life here feels normal. The lack of entries in this blog lately aren't due to a lack of good stories, but rather to the fact that what used to strike me as an interesting story now strikes me as normal life. I talk casually about cars running out of gas in the middle of the road, about marriage proposal from the person next to me on the bus, about having 50 students in the lab using bunsen burners at once at school. A good book I just read (Collapse by Jared Diamond) refers to our changing perceptions of what is normal over a long time as "creeping normalcy". Normalcy has crept up on me in Tanzania, and now it's here.

This has its ups and its downs. The good news is that life here takes much less effort. I know where to find the things I need. I know what I can expect to take a lot of time, and how much I can expect to get done in a day. On the other hand, the loss of the feeling of adventure makes the downs a lot harder. Since I no longer have a sense of excitement to get me through hard days, annoyances become simple annoyances, frustration becomes simple frustration.

Exams are approaching at school, and it will be exciting to watch the students I've been teaching biology for two years take their exams. I'll post some stories on that once the exams are over (practical exams always lead to some interesting stories...).
Once Form 4 finish their exams, I'll be left with my Form 3 chemistry students, who I plan to teach for another 6 months before leaving.

Sorry for the lack of posts lately. I'll try to catch up once national exams are over.

Nipo nipo bado!

2009-08-23T04:23:00.000-07:00

To quote a popular Bongo Flava (Tanzanian hip hop) song, I'm still here! It's been a while since I've posted. Some news:
-I've extended my service, and will be here until June.
-My town is developing! In small ways, but ones that make my life considerably more cheerful. When I got here, the only bread available was stale factory bread from Arusha; now there are two bakeries in town. My favorite restaurant now sells passion fruit juice--one of my favorite juices in Tanzania, but one that had never been available here. And there's a place with satellite internet in town...though admittedly, the connection is fairly unreliable.
-Speaking of development, I was talking to a guy from Denmark who'd been in my town in the nineties. I'd already known that there was no paved road to the town in 1995. According to him, there was also no electricity and only two shops. He remembers the first bar in town to install a television, after electricity finally came. And he remembers there being only one bank.
Well, now there are four banks in town, a paved road, electricity, and innumerable shops. Buildings are going up at an amazing rate. Land is being bought for tourist hotels, to the point where it's so expensive that many of the locals can't afford it. There are two places with internet, and the town feels very, very much connected to the outside world. And like it's continuing to change very, very fast. I'll be interested to come back here in ten or twenty years and see what things are like.
-I had my close of service conference, at a beautiful and tranquil beach hotel on the outskirts of Dar es Salaam. After nearly two years here, the first volunteers from my group are beginning to return home. It's an uncertain time for a lot of people, as most of us aren't sure what we'll do next. And, after adjusting to life in Africa for two years, it's going to be hard to adjust to life in the States again.
I've put all this off my extending. But next June, I'll be going through the same thing. In the meantime, I watch my training group slowly leave, send them my good wishes, write down their email addresses and promise to keep in touch...then take a car back to my village. Nipo nipo bado.

Lake Manyara

2009-06-10T01:45:00.000-07:00

On the map, my village is near the border of Lake Manyara National Park. I've always thought that, if I simply ride my bike in the correct direction, I'll find a view of the lake.

But until now, I've never had the time to go looking for one.

That changed this week. My school cancelled final exams due to a photocopying issue (the place printing the exams wanted more money than we had, there was a misunderstanding over pricing...long story short, we couldn't have final exams because we couldn't pay for them to be printed). So, suddenly I had a free week of time on my hands.

The first time I saw Lake Manyara was in my own village. I went hiking with a friend and a friend of a friend to the hills above the village. After about an hour and a half of climbing up and down, up and down, we reached a hill with a church on top. And there before us was a view of Lake Manyara.

Beautiful. But not as beautiful as the view in a neighboring village.

I've been promising to visit some friends in a neighboring village for a few weeks now. This week, I finally biked to their house with a neighbor to guide me. We had lunch (chicken--it's customary to kill a chicken for a guest), then went on a two hour hike/bike ride toward Lake Manyara. Our destination: a campsite for tourists with a view of the entire lake, a mere half hour's walk from the border of the park. I didn't even know there were campsites for tourists in the villages of my area! The view was absolutely amazing: we could see the entire lake, and the forests stretching in front of it, and various towns that I've travelled through on the other side of the lake. We even saw a gazelle of some sort in the forest, and the tower of the ranger station in the park.

It took me a year and a half to find out that this view was here. A year and a half! I guess that shows how long it takes to truly get to know a place. It's a good thing the Peace Corps puts us here for two years--I'm only just starting to feel like I know my area.

And a belated thanks to the Peace Corps staff who placed me here. Not only does the mountain containing Ngorongoro Crater rise above the cornfields of my village, Lake Manyara is only a few hours walk away. I feel very, very lucky.

Approaching break

2009-05-28T00:35:00.000-07:00

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!

Nyoka

2009-05-01T01:01:00.000-07:00

[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.

Ten days, ten regions of Tanzania

2009-04-13T01:07:00.000-07:00

It's been a busy week of travel.

Arusha to Manyara to Singida to Shinyanga to Mwanza on Lake Victoria. Mwanza back to Singida and on to Dodoma. Dodoma to Morogoro to Pwani to Tanga. Tanga to Kilimanjaro
and finally, back to Arusha. Somehow, I've managed to visit ten regions of Tanzania in as many days. And take about 4 eight to twelve hour bus rides. It's been a good break. But man, it's good to be home. I think it's time for a good two months in my village without going anywhere farther than the nearest town.

Kitu gani kimeibiwa?

2009-04-13T00:49:00.000-07:00

It's a weekday evening during break. I'm at a friend's house in a distant region when the phone rings.

Hey, it's Samweli, the guy who's watering my garden while I'm traveling. Hey, Samweli. How's the village? How's my garden doing?

Everything's fine, teacher. But...

Suddenly the network goes bad. Yet I distinctly catch one word: "imeibiwa". Something was stolen.

I panic. "What? What was stolen? Kitu gani kimeibiwa?"

"Sukumawiki yako." Your collard greens.

"What? They stole my sukumawiki?"

The two Peace Corps volunteers sitting next to me start laughing.

"Wait a minute, Samweli. What do you mean they stole my collard greens? Did they just take a few leaves? Or did they pull up the entire plant?"

"They took the entire plant. All the plants. Hawa ni watu wabaya--they're very bad people."

For a minute, I can't help but laugh myself. It's just such a ridiculous thing to have stolen. My collard greens?

But then, I put a lot of work into those greens. I was the only one watering my garden during a two-month drought, so now I'm the only one who has seedlings in my garden. But those seedlings are still small enough that they could be transplanted to another garden and survive. Apparently, someone did just that.

I'm kind of annoyed that someone else is benefiting from my two months of watering work. (It's a pain to water a garden by hand!). I'm kind of resigned: there's a drought, people are hungry, petty theft of greens isn't that bad compared to what they could be stealing. And, a large part of me wants to laugh. The things I've had stolen so far in Tanzania? A bucket, an A-level chemistry book, and three beds of collard greens.

Sukuma museum

2009-04-06T05:05:00.001-07:00

Tanzania has about 120 tribes, and most of them are fairly small. But there are a few larger tribes. One of them is the Sukuma. At 15% of the population, they're one of the largest tribes in the country.

Yesterday, we went to a Sukuma cultural museum about 40 minutes out of Mwanza. In a way, the museum reminded me of places like Plymouth Plantation and Sturbridge Village in Massachusetts, which show us how our ancestors lived. There was a hut built in the traditional Sukuma style (but of concrete so it would last longer), and inside it held the tools that a Sukuma would have used in the past: traps for catching fish and birds, clay containers for holding drinking water, a cup woven like a basket for drinking traditional beer, a hoe and a spear made by local blacksmiths. There were pavilions with displays on blacksmiths, showing a pit used for extracting iron from ore, and local bellows used to heat the charcoal in the pit. There was a pavilion full of royal drums, huge drums used to announce important events related to the king. Another hut showed tools used by traditional healers, and another was about Sukuma dances and dance competitions.

It's funny that, looking at African cultures, we tend to focus on things that are 'exotic' or different from Western culture. But in many ways, when we look at African tribes, we are also looking at our own past. It's true that the Sukuma entered the Industrial Age later than white Europeans, and that they were forging hoes by hand and using clay pots far more recently. But, with the exception of more culturally-specific items involved in dances or religion, many of the things I saw wouldn't have looked out of place in a museum about how Americans or Europeans lived in the distant past.

Another observation: the Sukuma have a museum to preserve their past. Most tribes don't. The tribe I live with, the Iraqw, seem to have lost most of their traditions. They certainly don't wear traditional clothes, the underground houses they used to build have entirely disappeared, and traditional dance troupes are few and far between. I don't know much about what tribal culture used to be like, so I don't know what else has been lost. But from what the older people tell me, the culture has changed and is changing fast. It's merging with the dominant Tanzanian culture, at the same time as Tanzanian culture is itself Westernizing. This isn't necessarily bad--in some ways, the changes are bringing development and the chance of a better future. But to lose a culture and a history so fast...it's disorienting. And it's hard to have pride in your past when your past is rapidly being obliterated by an outside culture. It'd be good if every tribe at least had a way to preserve their past, and write their history, before it's entirely lost.

Sukuma museum

2009-04-06T04:31:00.000-07:00

Arusha to Mwanza on the fast bus

2009-04-06T03:57:00.000-07:00

It's Easter break, and I'm on the road again.

This break, I decided I wanted to visit Mwanza. Mwanza is the second largest city in Tanzania, after Dar es Salaam. Like Dar, it's a port, but not an ocean port. Mwanza is on Lake Victoria, which is both the source of the Nile River and the largest lake in Africa. Well, I thought, I'll probably never have another chance to see Lake Victoria in my life. So I made plans to go to Mwanza for break.

Finding information on transport here was difficult. My guidebook claimed the road was unpaved, and that it could take days to reach the city. Tanzanians told me the road was recently paved and that you could get there in a day from Arusha. Unsure who to believe, I decided to plan a two day trip.

And so, on Saturday, I stood along the paved road from Arusha, trying to flag down a bus going to the town of Singida. The plan was to stay in Singida, the half-way point, for the night, then go to Mwanza in the morning.

By 6:45 am, I was sitting on my bags in the middle of the aisle of a bus. It was going fast. Way too fast, in my humble, I-don't-want-to-die-today opinion. But I was on, and the fare was paid, and the chances of finding a safer and slower bus were rather low.

We turned off the paved road onto the dirt road, and settled in for a bumpy five hour ride to Singida. On dirt roads, buses should slow down. This one didn't. I was like a student sitting on the back of a school bus as it goes over speed bumps: every time there was a bump, I bumped straight into the air with it. The guy behind me asked me if I wanted his seat. 'No, don't worry about it,' I said, not wanting to take the comfortable seat he'd paid good shilingi for. 'Someone will probably get off in Babati, and then I'll get a seat'.

Incidentally, Babati is a beautiful town, green and fertile. But people didn't get off in Babati: they got on instead. The bus was soon filled with students in brown sweaters and black pants, standing in the aisle on their way home for Easter break. Fortunately, I'd gotten a seat by now: when the bus had stopped for people to go to the bathroom, the guy on the seat next to me had gotten off, and had refused to take his seat back when he reboarded the bus. By that point, my arms were tired enough from clutching the seats on both sides of me that I was just happy to sit down.

We pulled into the town of Katesh around 10:30 am. I looked at my watch, amazed. We'd be in Singida by noon. Given my bus's speed, it probably wasn't just going to Singida...it was probably racing all the way to Mwanza. I started texting desperately back and forth with the friend I was supposed to meet in Mwanza. Would he get there today? Could he get there today? Could we meet in Mwanza instead?

And given that I'd already tested my luck for the last six hours, should I really stay on this bus?

Well, my friend wasn't sure he'd make it to Mwanza, but he thought it was likely. Given the choice between spending the night alone in Singida and having a chance of meeting up with him in Mwanza, I'd much rather go straight to Mwanza. The road to Mwanza was supposedly paved...that meant the bus would be slightly better driven. All right. I'll buy a ticket through to Mwanza.

And so, after a brief stop at a gas station for some really sketchy looking chicken and chipsi (french fries), we were off into the unknown.

Two observations about the next six hours:
-the road from Singida to Mwanza is, indeed, paved
-the view on that road is really, really boring
(flat, sparsely populated, farmland...ah well, I've been spoiled by having to pass through a national park every time I leave my town for Arusha)

At 6 pm, after an amazingly smooth journey, we pulled into Mwanza. By 7, I'd found my friend (who had, indeed, managed to arrive) and dropped off my bags at our hotel.

Journeys in Tanzania are usually full of stories of what went wrong: a broken-down bus, a long wait, a three hour engine-fixing break at a gas station in the middle of nowhere. This journey was, by Tanzanian standards, remarkably smooth. Yes, I sat in the aisle for a few hours. Yes, the conductor tried to cheat me and give me a higher fare--twice. But somehow, we covered five regions of Tanzania in twelve hours. That's pretty amazing, and I give thanks for my good luck.

How to plan a Tanzanian Wedding

2009-03-21T03:11:00.000-07:00

This week, we had an emergency meeting after chai at my school. Emergency means that it was called at the last minute and interrupted teaching. I was less annoyed than usual: for once, I had written my notes neatly enough that I could simply hand them to the class monitor to write on the board. At least my students wouldn't be too far behind because of the meeting.

The meeting's agenda:
1) The teacher's field trip to Lake Manyara Nat Park is still being planned.
2) There will be a party for students who did well on their Form II exams soon.
3) A teacher is getting married.

The third item was the actual reason for the meeting. The rest were just after thoughts, news to tell us while we were there. The actual news--and the bulk of the meeting--was about the wedding.

In Tanzania, you don't plan your own wedding. You get together a bunch of your friends/co-workers/neighbors and tell them you're getting married. Your friends then form a committee to plan your wedding. First they choose a chairman for the committee--people are nominated and a vote is taken, then that person is chairman whether they want to be or not. It's the same for the secretary and treasurer.

One of the biggest jobs of the wedding committee is to raise money. In Tanzania, the entire community funds your wedding. You send out cards asking for contributions, and may get anything between about $2 and $50 from a single person, depending on how well they know you and how much money they make. The average contribution from a co-worker at my school is about $8.

Then, your friends plan the wedding. They find the place where it will be held. They buy the food and cook. Of course they ask you for your input, but the majority of the planning is up to them.

So, we're planning another wedding. The fourth since I"ve been here. At least I"m not the treasurer this time.

There's a hole in the bucket...

2009-02-14T01:04:00.000-08:00

A Tanzanian school is like a bucket with a hole in it. You can keep putting in more teachers, over and over, until the bucket should be overflowing. And yet somehow, at the end of the day, there are never enough teachers to fill all the classrooms.

My school briefly had enough teachers. Back around August, we had teachers come to do their student teaching. Then other teachers left to go study. And slowly, as they finished their student teaching, the student teachers left too.

Now there are about 14 of us, for 550 students, all of whom study 10 subjects. There are two chemistry teachers (I'm one), two physics teachers, one history teacher. This puts us in a good position compared to many of the schools in the area, but it certainly doesn't mean we have enough teachers. Last year, we filled all the slots on the school schedule, even if only in name (one teacher had more periods than there were in a week). This year, some slots are empty. Other slots contain teachers who have already left, or who never came back after winter break.

So much turnover. For a country where some people never go much farther than the home village, there's an amazing amount of movement in Tanzania. The educated class of teachers is constantly moving, looking for a better place to teach, looking for a place to continue their studies. It's awesome that teachers are going to university and reaching a level of education that their parents or grandparents could only have dreamed of. But what do we do about all the students who are left without teachers?

Mwenyeji at last?

2009-02-14T00:57:00.000-08:00

As I was walking through town this morning, I notice a kid selling necklaces walking towards me. This is normal: souvenir sellers move toward wazungu like iron to a magnet.

'Jambo!' he said.
I don't like being taken for a tourist. I responded rather grumpily, 'Habari za asubuhi?'
'Ah!' he said, his tone changing. 'Where is teacher?'
'Mimi ni teacher'. I am a teacher.
'The other teacher. Peter.'
'He'll be in town in a few hours.'

A short exchange, but a heartening one. After only a few moments, he recognized me! He knows I'm the random white teacher who walks around with the other white teacher--a great improvement over being seen as the random white tourist. I may finally be on my way to becoming a local.

Test scores

2009-02-14T00:47:00.000-08:00

Highest score on my chemistry monthly test: 100
Lowest score on my chemistry monthly test: 0

No wonder I'm never sure what pace to teach at.

Waiting for the rain [but not anymore!]

2009-01-31T04:36:00.000-08:00

[this was written two weeks ago. Since then, it's started raining! My buckets are full of water from my roof. Farmers are crowding into agricultural stores in town to buy corn seeds. I can hear the sound of tractors at night, as for some reason people like plowing at night. My neighbors have started preparing their gardens, as have I. Tunashukuru sana kwa mvua]

The farmers here depend on rain. There's no irrigation, and even the village water pipes run
badly when it hasn't rained for a while.

Usually,there are two rainy seasons: the short rains in December, and the longer rains in March.
The short rains should last most of the month of December, and maybe into January. They're long
enough that one can plant and harvest beans before the land becomes too dry.

This year, it began raining at the beginning of December. The water faucets started to run well.
The farmers plowed their fields and planted beans.

By mid-December, it had stopped raining. By January, the bean plants were all dead. No one harvested
beans this year.

It's dry and dusty in my village now. The water only comes out of the faucet quickly in the mornings.
Yesterday it almost rained: the sky grew dark and it got windy, so windy my formerly-thriving papaya seedling
blew over. But then the sun burned through the clouds, and there was no rain.

Now the time for planting corn is coming. The farmers in my area have usually planted
their corn, mbaazi, and sunflowers by the beginning of February. What if it hasn't rained by February? For
a farmer, crops are food for their family, and crops are money for their children to go to school. If it doesn't
rain this year, most of the people in my village will be in trouble.

Tunamwomba Mungu. At every church in my village, from the Catholics to the Lutherans to the Pentecostals,
people will be praying for rain.

The first day of school

2009-01-31T04:22:00.000-08:00

[note: this was written two weeks ago, but the Internet connection wasn't good enough to post it at the time]

School opened on Tuesday (Jan 13) to very few students. This is normal. Everyone knows teachers don't
teach the first week, so why come the first week? And of course, all the teachers know that students don't
come the first week. So why teach the first week? If only half the students are in class,
you'll just have to teach that lesson again.

It's an endless cycle: students come late because teachers wait to start teaching. Teachers wait
to start teaching because students come late. At my school, it's not too bad: most of the students
are usually there by the middle of the second week. Universities may wait over three weeks until
enough students show up to start.

So there was no teaching on the first day of school. The students spent most of the morning doing maintenance:
cleaning the classrooms, pruning bushes, watering plants. In mid-morning, the academic master posted a notice
to all teachers: let us start teaching even if the students are few. Okay, I thought. I'll
return the biology final exams to my students and go over the answers. I started to gather my
papers together. Then the school bell, an old metal car piece hanging from a tree, rang. Or rather,
was banged on by a student. Bing bing bing bing bing bing bing! If the bell rings many times, it means there's
an assembly.

We all gathered under the trees behind the school. The students sat on the ground, while the teachers sat in
chairs facing them. The headmaster addressed the students about various aspects of the new school term.
After a while, I started drifting off. Then suddenly the headmaster was saying,'Maybe Kristen doesn't know about
this--do people do this in America?"

Me (a bit peevishly): Watu ni watu tu. Wanafanya hivi Marekani pia. People are people, they
do this in America too.

Everyone started laughing. I don't know what I said Americans do, but apparently it was funny.
Maybe witchcraft? (Part of the headmaster's speech had to do with the students' bad behavior and the fact that students
had been paying local witch doctors to make charms that would cause the teachers to ignore their
bad behavior).

We had lunch after the assembly. Usually, students bring bags of corn and beans to school as
part of their school fees. So usually, lunch is a combination of corn and beans: either ugali and beans
or makande (corn kernels boiled and mixed with beans).

This year, no one has beans. Beans are usually planted in December during the short rains. Well, this year
they were planted at the beginning December, when it started raining. And they all died by the end of December, when the
rains had already stopped. The students were told that instead of beans, they could bring mbaazi (pigeon peas),
which had been harvested back in August.

So we had a lunch of ugali and mbaazi. There were two periods after lunch, but few and scattered students. I decided to wait
another day to start teaching.

(A summary of the rest of the week: taught unusually small classes on Wednesday--20 students instead of 40 per class. On Thursday,
all the students who hadn't paid their school fees were sent home, and my classes only had 10 students. I decided not to teach. On
Friday, I had about 12 students per class, and divided them into small groups to draw posters. Maybe next week I'll have enough students
to start teaching new topics?)

A new school term begins!

2009-01-12T03:01:00.000-08:00

Habari za siku nyingi?

Yes, it's been a while since I've last written. I've been traveling for almost a month now, and will finally be heading back to my house this afternoon. This will, unfortunately, be a very short entry, as the car to my village leaves in twenty minutes.

First: pictures! Go to http://www.flickr.com/photos/kgtanzania to see some pictures from a Christmas hike up Mt. Hanang.

Second: a brief summary of my holiday travels. I visited a Tanzanian friend's village near Babati, then headed over to a volunteer's house in a village near the town of Katesh on Christmas eve. I spent Christmas climbing Mt. Hanang with another volunteer (we got near the top but didn't quite make it due to a storm). Then we headed to his site in Dodoma, rested a few days there, and spent New Years' with a volunteer in Mpwapwa. After some beautiful hiking in the hills of Mpwapwa, I headed to Morogoro to visit my host family for a day. Then it was on to Dar es Salaam, for a week of Peace Corps mid-service training and medical exams. And now? I'm back at my site, and school starts tomorrow morning. It's going to be a quick adjustment from traveling to teaching...though given normal delays in student arrival, I probably won't be teaching until next week.

Third: I'll be continuing with my students from last year, meaning I'll be teaching Form 3 chemistry and Form 4 biology. Form 3 chemistry covers titrations, moles, stoichiometry, electrochemistry, and fuels; Form 4 biology has genetics, growth/mitosis, ecology, and evolution. And since it's Form 4, the last year of secondary school, I'll be trying to review everything from previous years as well so my students will be ready for their exams.

I'll do my best to upload some travel stories and updates on teaching in the next few weeks. I hope everyone had a great New Year!

Ngorongoro

2008-12-18T00:02:00.001-08:00

Around two weeks ago, I finally went to Ngorongoro Crater. This after a year of seeing tourists every time I went to town, and looking at the mountain that contains Ngorongoro from my village every day.

And yes, it is truly beautiful. After hearing about it so much I was kind of skeptical--when you live next to a park for so long, it starts to seem ordinary. But Ngorongoro is amazing and looks nothing like my domesticated, farming village. To get there, you first climb up the mountain, through jungle with baboons and views of forested hills. Then you reach the top, and there's an amazing view of the crater below: long, long stretches of grass dotted with lakes and rivers. You descend into the crater and suddenly you're in the grasslands. It's not high grass, but rather a low, bright green grass, well-cropped by the local grazing animals. And on all sides of you, encircling you, are the green slopes of the crater.

There are an incredible number of animals. We saw huge herds of buffalo grazing together with zebra. We saw a male lion dragging a recently killed zebra across the road, with three female lions watching from the branches of a tree (yes lions climb trees!). We saw a cheetah stalking gazelle, and another cheetah having its kill stolen by hyenas. There was a pool full of hippos with birds perched on their backs. There were warthogs rooting in the dirt,and herds of gazelle everywhere. No elephants or giraffes--they're rarely found inside the crater--but we did see a rhinoceros in the far, far distance.

That's Ngorongoro, the bluish mountain I see everyday from my site. I look at it from farmland, from a land of cows and corn, of tractors and plows pulled by oxen. But from close up, it's clear that Ngorongoro is another world: a bit of the western idea of Africa, a bit of how much of this area looked years ago, and, very much, the world of African nature documentaries. I highly recommend a visit.

(I'll post pictures in a few weeks when I have a good internet connection).

Inch by inch, row by row

2008-12-17T23:43:00.000-08:00

Yes, I'm back to making my garden grow. It's the short rainy season, and while it hasn't rained in a week or so, the soil is now soft enough to work without simply sending clouds of dusts at one's nostrils.

Last year,when I used a hoe to dig my garden, a crowd of neighbors formed around me. I became the neighborhood entertainment. My method of holding a hoe (or perhaps the simple fact that I was using one) was apparently highly amusing.

This year, thankfully, I'm a normal and boring part of the surroundings. Occasionally people shout "Pole na kazi!" (sorry about the work!), but they don't stand and stare, and even when I do something weird in their eyes-like wearing wool winter gloves as gardening gloves-they don't come to grab the hoe from my hands and do the job for me. Which is just as well. I'm gardening more because I enjoy the work and watching the plants grow than because of the vegetables I'll acquire; the process is as important as the product to me. So it's nice that my neighbors no longer consider me incompetent, and that I can stand and slam my hoe into the soil in peace.

Also, my two new garden-related obsessions:
1) Water. Ever since the local water supply became super unreliable in November, I've been paranoid about water. All my buckets must always be full, giving me around 150 liters in storage. Since my garden is about to grow larger, I'm even more worried about water. It's probably time to buy another 60 L bucket for the purpose of holding garden water.
2) Fences. Animals wander around the neighborhood of the school, sometimes watched by their owners, sometimes not. There are donkeys, cows, pigs, sheep, goats. My garden is surrounded by a fence with thorns threaded through it, but it's not a sturdy fence, and a section of it fell apart in November, allowing a donkey into my garden. These days, you'll see me walking along the fence in the evenings, prying for weaknesses, and fixing them rather inexpertly by using branches and planks lashed on with twine.

I've built several beds, but haven't actually planted anything yet, as I'll be traveling for the next three weeks (I did put cow manure--straight from the cow's owner!--around my fruit trees). More garden news will be coming in mid-January, when I return from my travels.

Upungufu wa walimu

2008-12-08T00:03:00.000-08:00

For a short, blessed period, my school had enough teachers. There were over twenty names in the sign-in book each morning. Teaching loads were reasonable, and classes were being taught. It felt as if things were functioning well.

Then, as if the school had become a bucket with a small hole at the bottom, the number of teachers began to decrease. Six teachers left for university, bringing the number of teachers down to about 15. This was still reasonable. But there was a problem.

Every July, the Tanzanian teachers' colleges send their teachers throughout the country to do student teaching. Secondary schools around Tanzanian rejoice, as the number of teachers at their school doubles and the teaching loads finally become reasonable.

But then, every December, the student teachers leave. And the schools are again left without enough teachers.

So. We may have 15 or 16 teachers, but half of them are student teachers. When we open again in January, they'll be gone.

And in March, we receive A-level students. Not only will we need enough teachers to maintain a reasonable standard of education for our O-level students, we'll need extra, university-educated teachers for A-level.

It looks like we'll open next year with about ten teachers. This number may be a little higher, as my headmaster is quite good at finding new teachers. And we may get some extra teachers in February, when the Form 6 students finish their exams and head out in search of temporary teaching jobs. Perhaps we'll also get some more teachers from the government when the teaching college students graduate in March. This will help. But it will not fix the hole in the bucket, the basic problem in the Tanzanian school system.

Quite simply, teaching is hard. Teaching in a rural school with no electricity is especially hard. There's too much work, too many students, not enough support and not enough money. A lot of teachers aren't teaching because it's a great job, or because they love teaching. They're teaching because it's the job they can get, while they fill out applications to universities or save up money to pay tuition. Some of these people are truly great teachers, and their students love them, but the fact is that they won't be teaching for a long time. A year or two, and then they move on...and the school is again left to search for new teachers.

So. We may get more teachers, but even if we do, I'll probably be writing this entry again next year. In American schools, I grew used to stability: teachers came and went, but you could at least rely on them staying for the whole school year. Here, a single class may have four different chemistry teachers in a year. Stability is elusive and there is little the students can depend on. Sometimes, it's no wonder that the most successful students are the ones who've become so used to studying on their own that they're not sure what to do when a teacher enters the class.

Of parks and animals

2008-12-07T23:43:00.000-08:00

The other day, a Tanzanian asked why so many Americans and Europeans come here to see the parks. "Do you not have parks in America? Are there no wild animals there?"

This is a fairly common questions. Tanzanians are well-aware that tourists come here from around the world to see their parks, but that doesn't mean they know why. If you've lived in a country with elephants, lions, and giraffes all your life, and haven't traveled to another country or seen much TV, it's won't be obvious to you that not all countries have lions. Nor will you realize that these animals, which have always been in your country and have always seemed like ordinary wildlife to you, fascinate people in countries many thousands of miles away.

My favorite part of answering these questions is trying to explain American wildlife. I have yet to find a good way to explain bears. "They're like, uh, uh...well, a little like a lion but not exactly, uh...let me show you a picture in this biology book."

New photos

2008-11-19T00:35:00.000-08:00

Just to let you all know, I've posted some new photos at http://www.flickr.com/photos/kgtanzania.

Of donkeys and ovens

2008-11-18T23:48:00.000-08:00

One step forward, one step back.

I had about 14 fruit trees in my garden. The garden is surrounded by a wooden fence, built by a local craftsman from trees he cut down with his machete. For 11 months, it successfully protected my garden from the donkeys, cows, pigs, and goats that wander around the school ground. But it was starting to fall apart, and my attempts at repairing it by tying flimsy planks across the fence with twine were not very successful. Two weeks ago, on Sunday morning, a donkey entered my garden. It ate the tops off my papaya trees, chopped my formerly-thriving passion fruit vines down to a few leaves, and pulled my stafeli tree out of the ground.

Eight months of watering, and the passion vines are back to where they started. The papaya and stafeli trees may or may not make it. Yeah, I've been a little demoralized garden-wise. But there are still many trees the donkey didn't touch, and the fence has been rebuilt, complete with thorns. Hopefully, when I return to my site from travelling, enough time will have passed that I'll be motivated to work on my garden again.

(I've been watering my trees every day for months now, and watching them slowly grow taller provides some stability to my life and helps me keep my sanity. Seeing them eaten by donkeys was not good for my mental equilibrium).

But in good news, I built a brick oven! I took this idea from another volunteer, whose been baking bread for himself for months now. It turns out to be much easier than I thought to build an oven. Basically, you need a pile of bricks and some metal window mesh. You make a U-shape (three sides of a rectangle, with the fourth side left open) two bricks high. Then you lay a piece of window mesh across the bricks, for hot charcoal to sit on. Then you add two more layers of bricks, followed by another piece of window mesh (this one is for the thing you're cooking to sit on). Then two more layers of bricks, or three if you expect to cook something big.

The next steps are to close the top and front of the oven. To close the top, you can use a piece of metal roofing with dirt or bricks piled on top as insulation. I don't have metal roofing, so I used a piece of window mesh, plus a plank to strengthen the mesh. I then piled bricks on top of the oven. I left a small opening for a chimney, which is made of a can with the bottom cut out.

To close the front of the oven, I used bricks. You need to leave a space on the bottom for air to blow in, so I placed two bricks to either side of the front of the oven, then placed one brick across them to make a sort of arch. I then piled bricks in front of the rest of the oven.

To use the oven, I simply place lit charcoal in the lower piece of window mesh, place the pan of whatever I'm cooking on the higher piece of window mesh, and close the oven with a large pile of bricks in the front. And wait. Bread takes about an hour to an hour and a half to cook, and quick bread takes only 30 minutes.

So: donkeys are bad, but fresh bread is awesome. That's my conclusion for the week.

(You can see pictures of the oven at http://www.flickr.com/photos/kgtanzania)

A Funerary Visit

2008-11-06T02:01:00.000-08:00

Yesterday morning, I was in my office, listening to Obama’s acceptance speech on the radio. A teacher came by with a common sight: a sheet of paper requesting michango, or contributions. Michango can be for weddings, for graduation ceremonies, for funerals. This one was for a funeral.

To be honest, I didn’t sign the sheet at the time. I told her to come back when the speech was over. And then told a second teacher the same thing. But later that day, I did give my 1000 Tsh (about eighty cents, a common donation sum) in michango. And thought no more of it.

Until about 5:30 that evening, when a teacher came by. “Sorry I’m late. Are you ready to go?”

To go? Where?

“To visit the family of the deceased. We’re leaving now.”

But…I’ve never met the deceased.

“Neither have many of us, but she is mwenzetu, our companion, because she was a teacher like us. So we are visiting the family to give them support.”

But…I’m not dressed nicely enough. I’m not ready to go.

“No problem. We can wait for you.”

This is clearly a community duty. And besides, what reasons do I have not to go? I didn’t have any other plans, other than listening to the radio and writing in my journal.

So I put on a nice set of clothes, and climb into the back of a pick-up truck with a crowd of teachers.

There is much conversation about Obama on the way there. Can it be called the White House, now that a black man is president? Will there start to be prejudice against white people instead of against black people? There seems to be an assumption that whoever’s in power will give advantages to their “tribe”; I try to explain that things don’t quite work that way in America. At least they shouldn’t, if we’re living up to our ideals.

We bump over dirt roads, ducking down so that branches don’t hit our heads. As we travel, I see what most of my region looks like: hills, rolling fields, scattered mud houses with thatched roof. There’s not a high population density here. A family, a few cows, a large field for corn and grazing. Then open space. Then another few houses, another herd of cows, more fields. There are parts of Tanzania where you can’t walk for more than a few minutes without walking into someone’s yard. I’m not living in one of those areas.

We arrive at the house, greet the family, and sit down for tea. As we chat, my headmaster notes the two old men who are sitting with us: one man, already in his late sixties, is the son of the older man. “How old is he?” we ask the son. “One hundred twenty three,” the son says. “How old are you?” we ask. “Sixty eight. But I’m his fourth son.” I don’t quite buy that the older man is a hundred twenty three, but I’ll believe that he’s over a hundred. When he was a child, Tanganyika was a German colony. He tells us of carrying stones for the German colonists, and how each person had to pay a tax of one rupiah (three shillings, less than a cent in current money) per year.

Lots of tea, lots of conversation. At the end we take pictures. Me with the old man, our hands held together and up in the air as if we’re running for office. Some students from my school with the two old men: the new generation that’s only known a free Tanzania, and a generation that saw both German and British colonist. Me with some children of the family. Then we leave the house, climb into the pick-up truck, and crouch down in the bed for a bumpy ride home in the dark.

Water

2008-10-19T05:40:00.000-07:00

Water is a problem. The faucet next to my house is broken. The faucet at the other end of the row of teachers' houses has a line starting at 5:30 in the morning. When the water runs, it runs slowly. Sometimes a liter a minute. Sometimes 2 liters a minute. In the morning, when things are best, maybe a respectable 5 liters a minute. But by 8 or 9 am the water pressure is low, and by 4 pm the water may not be running at all.

Water is necessary. There's 14 fruit tree seedlings in your garden, and every day they dry up in the hot sun. There are clothes to be washed. There are dishes to clean. You need to bathe, and you should probably filter a bit of water for drinking as well. How to prioritize? The trees can get dirty dish water, but will they die if the water contains laundry soap? You can bathe and wash clothes less, but how much less? And how often do you want to get up at 5:30 am to fetch water?

Water is a blessing. Sometimes, amazingly, it falls from the sky. There is no line for it. There's no long wait. You simply run around as fast as you can, putting every bucket, pot, and bowl you own under the roof to catch the rain water. For the next three days, you have enough water to wash clothes, bathe, and water your fourteen fruit tree seedlings, all without every waiting in line.

Maji ni uhai. Water is life. More and more, as the dry season continues, I realize this. It is dusty, amazingly dusty, and every time I see a lake or a river I am amazed at how much water exists in this world. I have developed an appreciation, almost an obsession, over clean, clear water. It will be a long time until I take water for granted again. Even after I return to the U.S., it will be a long, long time until it feels normal not to have several 20 liter buckets of water stored in my house, just in case.

A year in Tanzania (almost)

2008-09-17T06:23:00.000-07:00

It is nearly a year since the day I boarded a plane to Tanzania. A year since I came out of the airport into the humidity of Dar es Salaam, half-asleep, disoriented, and more than a little afraid. I remember walking into my room that night and feeling a sudden, overwhelming feeling of loneliness: I was alone in a room in a country I didn’t know, surrounded by people speaking a language I didn’t understand. I never stopped to ask myself, “Was my decision to come here wrong? Should I go back to the U.S.?” I never thought about running back to where I came from. But that first night, as I walked alone into my room, I was overwhelmed by a feeling of being utterly, completely alone.

I’m now on my way back to that same hotel, to meet the new trainees who will be arriving by plane in just a few days. I’ll be looking back in time, at the person I once was, as the trainees make their way to the hotel from the airport. It’s the perfect place to be on my year anniversary of arriving in Tanzania. And it leads me to look back and think, how have I changed since I’ve arrived here?

It’s a hard question for someone to answer for themselves, as change is slow and hard to measure while it’s happening. If you want a really good answer, you’ll have to come visit me and tell me how I’ve changed. All that said, though, here are some thoughts on life after a year in Tanzania:

1) Tanzania is home.

I rarely think about the country I left behind. I don’t think about TVs or paved roads, American food or reliable electricity sources. I have long ago stopped yearning for things which I can’t find here, and which after months of living here I have forgotten about anyway. Tanzania is now home. It’s normal for chickens and cows to be walking along the road beside me. It’s normal to pass women carrying baskets of bananas on their heads, small children walking by themselves, and school-children dressed in uniforms. It’s normal for greetings to be an important and daily part of life, for the public transportation to be crowded daladalas, for meals to be beans and rice or ugali and greens. I no longer feel the constant pressure one feels as a newcomer. Am I doing this right? Will I offend someone? Is this area safe to walk in? Does the guy next to me want to steal my phone? These and a thousand other little things used to put pressure on me. Now the pressure, if it comes, arises simply from daily life. I worry about things like whether I will teach my students enough of the syllabus before their exams, whether my neighbors are watering my garden while I’m traveling, and whether the ATM at the bank will be working when I reach town. Life in Tanzania is no longer daunting, yet neither is each event an adventure and each day a subject for an excited journal entry. After a year here, life in Tanzania is simply life.

2) Plans? What plans?

The bus is an hour late? No problem, I’ll sit here and read my book. Classes are canceled today, with no advance warning? Well, I guess I’ll sit in my office and correct exams, and maybe we can do that debate I scheduled for today later this week. I’m the type of person who likes to plan ahead and to know what’s coming next. Even now, after a year of having my plans foiled, I still write down what I want to do with my classes for the next two weeks, and I still have a grand, carefully-scheduled scheme in my mind. The difference is that I no longer expect this scheme to work. I write plans with the expectation that they will change. I walk to the school in the morning expecting to have to improvise and change my schedule at the last minute. I no longer worry about foiled lessons and destroyed schedules, nor do I blame myself for these problems. As a wise friend said, “Prepare for but neither worry about nor depend on what you expect from the future.” It’s a good way to live in Tanzania.

3) Learning to be assertive

I wasn’t particularly good at saying no in the U.S. You want me to help you with your chemistry homework? Well, I have a thesis due in two weeks and I’m way behind in all my other classes, but sure, I’ll help you. You want to borrow this book? Well, I kind of need it, but sure, as long as you give it back later.

I stayed reasonably sane in the U.S. despite being unable to refuse people, because people rarely asked me for things. Here, people ask for me things all the time. Can I borrow your watering can? Your camera? Your chemistry book? Can you leave the class you’re teaching to take a picture of me? My parents’ house is too far from the school, can I live in your house with you? I just met you, but can I marry you?

With a barrage of questions of this type, I quickly learned to say no. Drawing lines has been a little harder—I’m still deciding what I’m willing to lend out and what I’m not, who I’m willing to go out of my way for and who is definitely not worth the time and trouble. But while I’m still drawing lines, once the line is drawn, it stays there. No, I need to water my garden this afternoon. My camera batteries are dead. I need my chemistry book to write lesson plans. No way, I’m not leaving the forty students I’m teaching to take a picture of you. Sorry, I’d love to let you live in my house, but my organization doesn’t let me live with anyone else. And I suppose you could marry me…if you’re willing to cook, wash my clothes, learn fluent English, and give fifty cows to my father. Oh, and I should mention I have no intention of getting married soon, maybe you should come back in ten years with those cows.

If there’s any useful skill I’ll be taking back with me to the U.S., it’s the ability to say no when necessary. And to differentiate who I should say no to firmly and possibly rudely, and who is important/nice/friendly enough to say no to in a polite or humorous way.

4) The importance of relationships

I have always been an introspective person. In the U.S., this also meant I was a bit of a loner. I was perfectly happy spending hours by myself reading, writing, or simply thinking. I enjoyed the time I spent with my friends, but at the same time, I had no problem with being alone.

Tanzania has changed this. I have become good at being an extrovert. I can make small talk with the person next to me on the bus, and chat about anything from the school I teach at to the state of the local crops to American culture with neighbors who invite me to dinner. I have learned to make friends with a few words: to find out where people are from so I can greet them in their tribal language, or to find out where people have traveled and worked so I can make a connection with them based on places we have both been. I have a collection of phone numbers and e-mail addresses for Tanzanians I will probably never meet again—but who may prove helpful should I ever pass through their village. I have a wealth of stories of coincidences, from the guy on the computer next to me in Morogoro who knew a teacher that lives only a few houses down from me, to the guy on a bus seven hours from my village who had once been a student at my school.
It seems that I can't go anywhere in Tanzania without meeting either someone I know or someone who is a relative or friend of someone I know. Fairly amazing, considering that the population of the country is as large as that of California.

At the same time as I've become more extroverted, I've come to place a greater value on relationships. One of the main things we were taught during training is that Tanzanians place a greater value on relationships than on things like productivity, directness, and arriving places on time. This has become my view as well. I've learned to expect that a trip to the store to buy soap will take two hours, because I have to greet everyone on the way there and back. I stop by neighbors’ houses just to say hi and to exchange news. And while I won't give money to the drunken old men who sit around by the village stores, I will lend money to neighbors, or simply give them money in the case of weddings, funerals, and sick relatives.

As I've become more extroverted and more accustomed to having relationships with my neighbors, I've become worse at being alone. I'll find myself alone in my house for the first time in a while, and I'll simply think, now what? I've gone from being accustomed to spending my free time alone with a book or a pen, to having no idea what to do with myself when there's no one there to talk to.

Tanzania has taught be to how to start relationships with strangers, how to keep up relationships with neighbors, and, most importantly, how to treasure the relationships I have. I hope to take this skill back to America with me—and to learn to use it in a place where it is much harder to start conversations with strangers and much more challenging to keep up relationships with neighbors.

A last thought: Peace Corps volunteers often say that the days pass slowly, but the months pass quickly. This is very true. When I look back, the past year doesn't seem to have gone by in the blink of an eye, but it does seem to have gone by quickly. And, perhaps more strangely, it feels utterly and completely gone: the events seem so distant, so faded in my memory, that I wonder if I arrived here five years ago rather than one. As my second year in Tanzania begins, I have only one goal: to simply enjoy and make the best of each day, because before I know it, I'll be writing an entry like this again. And a blink of an eye later, whether or not I'm ready, I'll be on a plane home. So this year, I plan to simply take things slowly, do my best not to stress too much, and enjoy my life here while I can.

Karatu to Dodoma, Part 2

2008-09-17T05:57:00.000-07:00

(read the entry after this one first--this is part 2)

DAY 2: BABATI TO DODOMA

I woke up that morning on a tight schedule. If there are no delays, it takes three hours to get from Babati to Kondoa, and five to get from Kondoa to Dodoma. Eight hours total, if there are no delays. I needed to get to Dodoma by 4 to catch a car to my friend’s site. My thoughts: get on a bus at 7 am. Kondoa by 10 am. Dodoma by 3 pm. Mungu akipenda, God willing, I’ll be in time to catch the car at 4 pm. And if the normal Tanzanian delays catch up with me? Well…I won’t think about that yet.

Things began well. I awoke at 5:30 am and went to eat breakfast. The missionaries were not yet up, but we’d discussed my plans the night before, and they’d left out cereal, a bowl, and a spoon. Cereal! This is a food that doesn’t exist in rural Tanzania, and is only available in expensive imported boxes in the cities. I happily downed two bowls of cereal with milk. Then (with the family’s two dogs nipping at my ankles and setting off my fear of dogs), I shouldered my bags and walked out into the streets of Babati.

For my whole life, I have had a terrible sense of direction. I consistently walk out of classrooms, offices, and bathrooms and turn the wrong way. That morning was no exception. I walked for ten minutes before I saw someone else, and when I did, I prompty asked if I was going the right way. The answer? Definitely not. I turned around and went back the way I’d come.

6:45 am. 6:50 am. I looked worriedly at my watch, afraid I’d miss the 7 am bus and be stuck in town until 8. But that day, Mungu was on my side, and things worked out. I arrived at the bus stand in time to buy one of the last three tickets for the 7 am bus to Kondoa. And by 7:15 am, we were on our way.

Bumpety bump, bumpety bump. Since I’d bought one of the last tickets, I was in the very back of the bus. What this means is that each time we went over a bump, I was temporarily in the air. I’d be talking with my neighbor, then WHEE!, our butts would bump out of our seats and then plop back down.

My neighbor: Are you afraid of Osama bin Laden?

Me: Not really. I don’t see the point in being afraid of things I have no control over. For example, this bus is going rather quickly, and it’s possible it could get into a crash. But I have no control over it, therefore I don’t see a point in worrying about it.

(Superstitious side of self: what if by mentioning this I cause a crash?)

No fears, the bus did make it safely to Kondoa, and there was no sign of Osama on the road. Although there was a store called the “George Bush shop” in Kondoa. But I neither entered to George Bush shop, nor even stopped to go to the bathroom. For the second time that day, I barely made a connection. I hopped directly from my bus out of Babati to the nearly full 10:30 bus to Dodoma. And by 10:45 am, we were on our way south.

Bumpety bump, bumpety bump. I spent the first 15 minutes wondering if we’d even make it out of Kondoa. The bus looked like it’d been welded together and could fall apart at the slightest tap. The bumpiness came from the bus itself as much as from the road. Bumpety bump, bumpety bump. Should I have taken another bus? Will we break down in the middle of nowhere? Questions bounced around in my head, but after a few more bumps, they bounced out. I have no control over this. Worrying about it isn’t going to help. Sit calmly, look out the window, and hope for the best.

And the land out the window was…empty. Not empty in terms of plants, but in terms of people. There was low scrub forest, hills, giant boulders. But there was none of what I’ve grown used to seeing in Tanzania: huts, stores, cornfields, cows…signs of people. There was no one on the road, not one guy carrying a bag of charcoal on his bike, not one small child herding cows. There were no huts, no stores, no fields. We were passing through true wilderness. If there were people there, they were well-hidden. Thirty minutes passed between when we left Kondoa and when I finally saw a hut. It was a single hut, with a small cornfield nearby and a few cows. But it was enough to make me heave a sigh of relief. There are people in this world after all. It’s not an endless, empty land.

The bus continued to make its way over the dirt road, slow but steady. It wasn’t as empty as it had been, but it certainly wasn’t populated. We’d pass occasional groups of huts and even villages, but there were long, long stretches of empty land between them. And the area was one of the poorest I’ve yet seen in the country. Most of the villages consisted simply of dirt huts in the desert, with no electricity or water. There were few if any schools in the area. And the closest paved road—and most likely the closest hospital as well—was many, many hours away.
We stopped at one of the main villages along the road to pick up passengers. People ran to the window, selling food. Peanuts! Mishkaki (spiced barbecued beef)! Water! Ndege!

Ndege?

The ndege seller was holding a pot of what looked to be small pieces of meat. But there was something odd about them: despite being so small, they didn’t looked like they’d been cut.

I asked the passenger in front of me what ndege was.

“They’re small wild birds, which they catch and then cook.”

Hmm. Makes sense. Ndege means bird, and wild birds were one of the few resources in the area. But this was the first time I had ever heard of wild birds being eaten in Tanzania, and certainly the first time I’d seen them for sale.

I bought some peanuts, deciding to leave the ndege for another time. The bus continued on its way. I counted the kilometers on the signs for Dodoma: 150 km left, 100 km, 50 km, 20 km. Somewhere around 10 km from Dodoma, we hit paved road. But the bus was in such bad condition that it continued to feel just as bumpy.

10 km, 9 km, 8 km, 7 km. 6.5 km. 6 km. 5.5 km.

It’s common for things to seem very, very slow as one approaches a long-desired goal. In the case of the bus, this was made worse by the fact that many of the passengers wanted to be let off at the outskirts of the city. We stopped to let people off. They spent five minutes finding the bags they’d stowed in the compartment beneath the bus, and the next five minutes either chatting with or arguing with the conductor. Finally, finally, we started moving again. Five minutes later we stopped and repeated the whole procedure.

I spent a lot of time staring at my watch. And tapping my feet in impatience. And listening to my heart pound. 3:20 pm. 3:30. 3:45. Will I really get there by 4?

At 3:50 pm, we pulled into the bus station. By 3:55, I was on a taxi headed toward the stand for the cars to my friend’s village. By 4:05, I was at the stand, chatting with the driver of the village car.

“When’s the car leaving?”

“Around 4:30.”

I sat down to a meal of chipsi (french fries) and soda with a sigh of relief.

And in typical Tanzanian style, we didn’t actually leave until 5 pm. And then, we circled around the area for 15 minutes before finally heading south on the road to the village. I stood in the back of a crowded pick-up truck, talking with a student about American culture and male and female gender roles, ignoring the ravings of the drunken conductor, and feeling more elated and relieved than I had felt in a long time. Sixteen hours of bumpy dirt roads, two cars and four buses, and somehow, in a land of delays and broken-down buses, I had made it. Nashukuru. It’s proof of one of my theories about Tanzania. In the middle of a journey or project, things often seem to be wrong, even utterly and hopelessly wrong. Yet, in some magical and inexplicable way, they usually do work out.

Karatu to Dodoma on the Road Less Traveled (Part 1)

2008-09-15T07:43:00.000-07:00

Take out a map of Tanzania, and look for two towns: Karatu and Dodoma. If you can't find Karatu, look for Arusha instead. Found them? Good. Now, tell me: what do you think would be the fastest route between these two places?

If you said 'Head straight south', your answer is logical...but wrong. The fastest way from Karatu to Dodoma is to go from Karatu to Moshi, Moshi to Morogoro, Morogoro to Dodoma. In other words, to go east, then south, then west again.

Why? Because that's where the paved roads are. The land between Karatu and Dodoma is sparsely settled and undeveloped. As a result, the roads are unpaved, and the buses that travel them are old and poorly-maintained. I have asked many Tanzanians, 'What about the road south to Dodoma?' The answer is always the same: Don't even think about it. Take the paved road through Arusha.

Sound attractive? I thought it did. So about a week ago, I forsook the paved road through Arusha, and hopped on a car headed for the bumpy southern road.

The plan was as follows:
Day 1: Karatu to Mbulu, Mbulu to Babati. A night staying with American missionaries in Babati.
Day 2: Babati to Kondoa, Kondoa to Dodoma, Dodoma to my friend's school. This was iffy, as I'd need to get to Dodoma by 4 pm to catch the car to his school, and Babati to Kondoa is 8 hours if everything goes as planned (and when does everything go as planned in rural Tanzania?).

DAY 1: KARATU TO BABATI

I awoke at 5:30 am with a plan to be at the main road waiting for a car by 7 am. As usual, Tanzania foiled my carefully-laid plans. It took longer than expected to get everything ready: to pack my bags, sweep my floor, and leave my house clean for me to come back to. It also took longer than expected to give neighbors my watering can and buckets so they could water my garden when I was gone. Greetings are important in Tanzania, you can’t hurry through them. And if your headmaster wants you to write a letter for him before you leave, well, you write it and arrive, with a sigh, at the road at 8:30.

I was headed toward the town of Mbulu. Of course, since I was headed toward Mbulu, all the cars that passed were going the other way. I finally got in an Mbulu-bound private car after over an hour of waiting, and reached Mbulu by noon.

A quick lunch and a glance around Mbulu: a quiet, forested town, too bad I’m in too much of a hurry to stay. I asked around the small bus stand for transport to Babati. “The Babati buses all left already, you could come back in the morning.” Umm, no, it’s necessary I reach Babati today. “Then take a Katesh bus and get off at Dereda.” I was pointed to a bus that already looked full. “Can you stand?” the conductor asked. “Um…sure.” I got on and crowded into the already-full aisle.

It was the first day of school vacation, and all the students were leaving their schools in town to go back to their home villages. Hence, a very crowded bus, but also a bus full of the people I’m most used to interacting with: students. The crowded, cramped four hour ride felt a little shorter due to conversations with my neighbors. I did eventually get a seat—with bags and a child on my lap—but was nevertheless very happy when we finally reached the town of Dereda, and I switched for a shorter, much less crowded bus to Babati.

Babati is not a big town. But it is the capital of its region, which means it has paved roads and electricity. We had views of the town’s namesake lake, Lake Babati, on the way in. And the town as a whole was much greener than I expected. Thanks to seeing the lake and the trees and to arriving successfully before dark, I was in a good mood as I got off the bus and started walking to the missionaries’ house.

A side note, in case you’re wondering, how did you meet missionaries? The short story is that another Peace Corps volunteer gave me their phone number. The longer story is that there’s a sort of network of Americans in Tanzania who welcome Peace Corps volunteers to their houses. Not everyone’s in it; there are plenty of Americans living in Tanzania who have no interest in hosting Peace Corps volunteers. But there are others who open their houses to us, and encourage us to pass on their phone numbers to our friends. The missionaries are in this group. Even though the Peace Corps philosophy is very, very different from the missionary philosophy, the shared experience of being foreigners in Tanzania is the same. We don’t meet with the intention of changing each other’s political or religious views, we simply meet to share stories of living here, and to give or take hospitality as it’s offered.

And so, I spent my evening in Babati in America. At least that’s what it felt like. The missionaries have four children, meaning that they wanted their house to be fairly American. A hot shower! Pizza and lemonade for dinner! Styrofoam plates! Children sitting on the floor, watching a movie! I went to bed feeling very thankful for the hospitality. Day one was a success, but I still had the bumpy roads and unknown territory of northern Dodoma region ahead of me.

(continued in the entry above this one)

Nimepotea!

2008-09-14T02:05:00.000-07:00

It's been a while. Here's a quick update, hopefully to be followed by more detailed entries in the next few days.

1) Where am I now?
I'm in Morogoro, the city where I had my Peace Corps training. I'll be helping with the training of the new Peace Corps volunteers that will arrive this week. I'll be meeting them at the airport in Dar es Salaam, then heading with them to Morogoro for their first week of training.

2) Where have I been?
I took the 16 hour dirt road south from my site to Dodoma. It was interesting. Look on a map-I passed through Mbulu, spent a night in Babati, passed through Kondoa, and finally reached Dodoma. Details coming soon.

3) How's school?
Due to another teacher's absence, I was put in charge of running chemistry practicals. Practical 1: titration. Mouth pipetting is completely normal in Tanzania. Practical 2: Qualitative analysis. I had no idea how to do this myself until a week before the practical. Again, details coming soon.

Some random thoughts

2008-08-09T05:37:00.000-07:00

How many random thoughts can one type in 13 minutes of Internet time?
-Having a camera makes you the village photographer. And students have no idea how much of a pain it can be to get digital pictures developed. The next day: Have you developed the pictures yet? Where's my picture? You haven't developed it? Well, why not?
-Phone companies constantly change names in Africa too. I was becoming rather attached to my Celtel phone and the rather large amount of Celtel vouchers I was buying each week. They've changed names: now they're called Zain.
-Sharing is expected and automatic. I gave a student a chocolate bar for getting all the questions right on a quiz. Two minutes later, it had been split into six tiny pieces, and five of his friends had a piece (impressive given that my students never, ever eat chocolate!).
-My favorite sign in Tanzania: the sign for MIT at the central roundabout in Moshi. MIT=Moshi Institute of Technology, a tiny school in Moshi. I took a picture of my sitemate (an MIT graduate) there yesterday. Maybe it will make the alumni magazine?

A long weekend

2008-08-09T05:21:00.000-07:00

Yep, there are long weekends in Tanzania too. Friday was Nane Nane (August 8), also known as peasants' day--basically a holiday in honor of farmers. Which also means no school...and a chance to travel!

Now, I rarely travel. My fellow volunteers in Kilimanjaro region call me "site rat" because I hardly ever leave my site. At least from their point of view. In truth, I go to town about every two weeks, but rarely go as far as Moshi because it's a six hour ride, and that's a long way to go if I leave Saturday morning and have to return Sunday evening. Peace Corps groups Arusha and Kili regions together as a single "super-region", but really, Kilimanjaro region is a world away from me. The sites of the Kilimanjaro volunteers are mountainous, green, and full of banana trees; mine is a rolling plain full of cattle and corn.

But this weekend, I realized Friday was free, and I actually had time to reach Moshi. And a great thing about travelling this weekend: there are shadowers here! These are environmental and health trainees who are about to finish their training, and spent a week visiting other volunteers as part of the end of their training. I met 5 of them last night, and 3 more in Moshi this afternoon. After nearly 11 months in Tanzania, it's hard to believe that I was once like this too: excited but also overwhelmed, confused, and often exhausted by the new environment and new language. I'm creeping up on a year in Tanzania now. It's been a while. And still about 16 months to go...I wonder how I'll look back on my current self 16 months from now.

Tutafika chemical equations lini?

2008-07-26T03:32:00.000-07:00

My chemistry Form II students have their national exams in November. But there are regional mock exams in September. And district mock exams a little over three weeks from now. They're stressed out.
Every day I hear, "when will we reach balancing equations? when will we reach ionic equations?". They study past exams and so have a good idea of what questions are asked a lot. And they're very, very worried we won't reach certain common topics before the district mock exams. Namely, balancing equations.
Now, let me point out that I had a teaching plan. A good, logical teaching plan, where I carefully teach one topic before starting a new topic whose very foundations depend on the previous topic. Also in this plan--which looked great back in January--we would have reached chemical equations back in May.
Well, things happen. Days of school were missed, sometimes weeks of school were missed. The plan fell a little behind. At our current rate, we'll reach chemical equations just about when the district exams start.
Mwalimu, tutafika chemical equations lini? When are we starting chemical equations?
I never before appreciated how much pressure high-stakes national exams put on the teacher. And these exams are much, much more high-stakes than any we have in the U.S. The students know very well that their future depends on the outcome. I know very well that their future depends on the outcome. And while I realize that their success or failure depends on a lot more than just me, I'd like to do my best to make sure they succeed.
Mwalimu, tutafika chemical equations lini?
(Sigh). It messes with my teaching plan and my general ideas of the best way to teach, but we might just skip covalent compounds--which admittedly you don't need to know to balance a chemical equation, though they're rather important in chemistry--and go straight to chemical equations. Otherwise, my students will be so panicked they won't hear a single thing I say.

Writing on hands

2008-07-26T03:12:00.000-07:00

Today, I happened to be going to town with the daughter of a friend of my headmaster's family, who had been staying at the headmaster's house. As we neared town, she said "Karibu kwetu", welcome to my house. I was in no hurry and some of my best moments in Tanzania have come from following random calls of "Karibu kwetu". So, we got off a little before town and went to her house.
As it turns out, she lives at a sort of hospice for sick people. Her mother is a nurse, and takes care of the people living there. I mostly met the people there in passing, simply greeting them as I entered or left. But there was one, a blind and deaf man, who I spent a bit longer 'talking' to.
Being blind, he couldn't see me to know that I wasn't Tanzanian. Being deaf, he also couldn't hear me. I talked to him by writing letters on the palm of his hand with my finger. I wrote: "Habari?"--how are you? He replied aloud "Nzuri, nzuri"--good, good. The grandmother who was helping me communicate with him told me to say who I was. I wrote "Mzungu" (white person). This was apparently such a random thing to say that it took the help of a more expert writer-of-letters-on-palms for the message to get through. She wrote very fast, and I have no idea what was said. I ended with "Pole" (condolences) and I think she then wrote "Goodbye" on his hand.
For all the adventures I've had trying to communicate in Kiswahili and Kiiraqw, this is the most interesting and unexpected communication experience I've had in Tanzania.

A new term

2008-07-13T02:27:00.000-07:00

School opens again tomorrow.
Now, I had big plans to use this vacation to prepare my classes. I was going to fill notebooks with notes to put on the board. Plan big projects for the reproduction section of the biology syllabus. Overhaul my chemistry teaching plans so I could cover the whole syllabus before the national exams, while also reviewing the whole Form I syllabus. Come up with innovative ways to teach the memorization-heavy biology syllabus so I stop feeling like a machine that exists to put notes on the board.
That was the plan. What did I actually do? Well . . . I traveled. I hiked up two mountains. I saw friends. I visited my host family. I built a solar oven. I did spend a little time messing around in a chemistry lab, and came up with one good demonstration. But mostly, I caught up with friends, saw more of Tanzania, and relaxed.
Today I return to notebooks that are not filled with lesson plans, demos, or brilliant innovative teaching ideas. I return this afternoon with school starting tomorrow, and all I have ready are a week's worth of lesson plans which are adequate but not particularly exciting. Do I feel good about this? No. I wish I had written up more lesson plans, and I especially wish I had thought more about my biology teaching plans. I won't say I have no regrets, that would be a lie.
But, coming from the other side: do I feel particularly bad about this? The answer, again, is no. I didn't realize how exhausted I was until I finally did go on vacation. How much stress I had built up inside me, and how much it was affecting my personality in ways I didn't like. I was snapping at people on the smallest provocation. I was losing my ability to respond to daily annoyances with humor and patience. I was teaching, yes, but my mood outside of teaching was anything but good.
I didn't get much planning done on this break. But I did relax. I caught up with friends and had a lot of cathartic conversations. By exchanging stories with others, I realized that I wasn't alone in the problems and annoyances I face. By seeing other schools and hearing others' stories about teaching, I got inspired to start teaching again. And simply by taking a break from my site, I cleared the built-up annoyance and stress from my system, and got ready to return and live there again for the next many months.
I don't return to notebooks full of lesson plans. Nor do I return with a clear framework of my plans for the semester, or even a general idea of what I want to achieve. But I return relaxed, with a clear mind, without any stress or pressure built up inside. I return emotionally calm and stable and ready to deal with whatever this semester brings. I'm often a perfectionist and of course I'd love to return to those piles of prepared lesson plans and a clear list of goals for the next several months. But as I've realized more and more in Tanzania, the most important thing is not crossing off every item on my to-do list, but rather keeping mentally calm and peaceful enough that I'm ready for any situation. Given the choice between that pile of notebooks and mental peace, I'm glad I took a long vacation. If nothing else, I'll return to school with my patience, humor, and ability to simply enjoy life restored to me.

Harvesting corn

2008-07-13T01:55:00.000-07:00

There is something beautiful about harvesting corn. Standing in the sun surrounded by corn stalks, the blue sky overhead. The colors of the world are vivid and pure: blue sky, brown earth, golden corn. You peel back the leaves around the corn cobs, revealing golden tassels that look like blond hair, then the golden kernels of the corn itself.
The work is easy, repetitive. And yet it feels significant in a deep and undescribable way. Peeling the leaves off the ears of corn, throwing the cobs into piles, you feel yourself a part of the rhythm of life. In December, when you reached your village, this soil was bare but for a few stubby pieces of grass. In early January, you hoed it with a lot of help from neighbors. In mid-January, a neighbor planted corn and beans for you, because those are the crops that everyone plants. You watched the corn sprout from the soil, and then grow tall and green. For two months it formed an emerald fence around your garden. And then, slowly, it began to turn brown. The stalks became dry; the ears golden. And now you're out in the field, piling the corn cobs, breaking the stalks. Two days of work, a pile of corn drying in your courtyard, the cornstalks carted away to feed to a neighbor's cow. And now we're back at the beginning, the land bare and empty, only a few blades of grass hinting at its fertility.
The cycle of the seasons. The cycle of birth and death, growing and dying. A cycle which has set the days of all human lives until very recently, and which still measures the rhythm of life in a rural village. It can be a hard cycle, an exhausting cycle, a cycle full of blisters and sweat and hands stained with dirt. But at it's deepest level, there is something beautiful about it. In an often unstable existence, there is something calming and peaceful about being so close to the eternal cycle of life.

Goats' blood and flower petals

2008-07-02T02:48:00.000-07:00

I've been traveling a lot lately, mostly on work-related leave. Which means that I spent a good deal of time messing around in the lab at a friends' site. Productive? Well, some of our attempts were, and the biggest failure is a good story. Here's some of what I did.

1) Goats' blood
I've been invited to give a science presentation using local materials at a district science teachers' convention. I brainstormed with a friend and came up with what sounded like a great idea: extract DNA using soap, salt, and ethanol. Sound easy? We thought so. You just scrape the inside of your cheek, put the cheek cells in salt water, mix with detergent, and add ethanol. The DNA should precipitate beautifully at the ethanol-water interface.
We tried this first with cheek cells. No luck. We thought, maybe cheek cells don't have enough DNA. How about blood?
Now admittedly, red blood cells have no nucleus and therefore no DNA. But white blood cells should have plenty of DNA. We went to the butcher to request cow or goats' blood. The butcher was closed. We went back a second time; still closed. By this time, all the people in the area of the butchery knew we wanted goats' blood. But we figured we wouldn't be able to get it until the butchery finally opened the next day.
That night, there's a knock at the door. "I heard you wanted goats' blood." It's a guy carrying a cup of coagulated goats' blood. Er...yeah, we did want blood, let me go get a container. There was a jar of goats' blood in the refrigerator overnight, and we headed to the lab again in the morning.
As for the experiment? Still no luck. We tried it with goats' blood and pure ethanol and with Konyagi (the local hard liquor). We tried two types of detergents. Back when we were using cheek cells, we even tried a sketchy industrial alcohol we'd bought in town, which was purple and smelled like ashtrays. No luck all around. We sterilized the coagulated goats' blood with the purple alcohol, and dumped them both, with a good deal of relief, in the school trashpit.

2) Flower petals
Clearly, a different plan was needed for my science demonstration. We'd also read that you can make acid-base indicators by extracting the color from flower petals with alcohol. This one worked beautifully.
Take the petals of a local flower (I think we used bougainvillea). Combine with Konyagi or ethanol and crush with a mortar and pestle. Filter. You should have a pink liquid.
Add acid to this pink liquid. It turns slightly purple. Hmm. Not very exciting. Maybe it won't work, we thought.
But then! Add base (sodium hydroxide). Whoa! It turned yellow. A pink liquid made from flower petals, turning yellow when combined with something clear? That's cool! I think I have a science demo :-).

The spectrum of Peace Corps housing

2008-06-23T03:21:00.000-07:00

When people think of the Peace Corps, they often picture living in a mud hut with a thatched roof, cooking over a fire and fetching water in buckets from a river. And while it's very possible that some environmental volunteers live this way, education volunteers are usually in less remote areas, and live in teachers' houses (which are nicer than the average village house). Here's a glimpse of the spectrum of volunteers' houses.

On one end: concrete house with a metal roof. Concrete floors. No electricity. No water. This is my house. The house itself is great: there's a dining/living room and three other rooms, a walled courtyard in the back, and a pit toilet, room for bathing, room for cooking, and room for storage behind the courtyard. I use a kerosene lamp at night, cook on a charcoal stove or a kerosene stove, and fetch water in 20 L or 40 L buckets from the faucet by my house. It's simple, but functional. And--I should say this before I go on--I love my house. While I wouldn't complain if electricity miraculously reached my village while I leave there, I wouldn't leave my pit toilet, bucket baths, and kerosene lamps for another site.

More in-between: I visited a friend on the slopes of Kilimanjaro, who has running water and a sink, but no electricity. She has a shower and flush toilet, and cooks on a gas stove. The stove is powered by a large propane tank, which she occasionally carries to a neighbor's store so that it can be taken to town and refilled.

Safi sana! (very nice): I've visited two friends who teach at teachers' training colleges. These sites are generally very well set-up. They have both electricity and water in their house, at least in theory (I say in theory because both the electricity and the water can be unreliable). One has an small electric stove he bought for himself, the other a propane-powered gas stove the head of his school bought him as a welcoming gift. And of course, having electricity allows one to get all sorts of useful things, from blenders to refrigerators to laptops.

So there's a sample of the spectrum of Peace Corps teachers' houses. In many ways they're very similar: all concrete houses with metal roofs and concrete floors, and generally furnished with maps on the walls and random piles of books, old boxes that came by mail, and Newsweeks from Peace Corps. And, no matter how many blenders or refrigerators or laptops people have, we all share one more thing in common: no washers or dryers. Some people may be washing clothes while their blender whirs and their plugged-in iPod plays music in the background, but we're all washing our underwear by hand.

Movies,hikes,and visits to friends

2008-06-23T03:07:00.000-07:00

It's been a busy, awesome week. Since I last wrote here, I've travelled from Dar es Salaam to Morogoro, Morogoro to Mpwapwa, Mpwapwa to Dodoma. From the coast to the mountains to the desert. It's a good break and a good chance to see a lot of friends I haven't seen in months.

Dar: went to an awesome Ethiopian restaurant. And to a movie! There must be a wormhole somewhere in Tanzania that transports people from Dar to America. The movie was at a theater in a shopping mall, and felt exactly like a mall in the U.S. Well, except that some of the signs at the clothing stores were in Swahili, and you're assigned a seat in the theater when you buy your movie ticket.

Morogoro: I saw my host family for the first time in six months! And it really did feel like coming home to visit family. I ate far too well, caught up on the family news (one host sister got married!), went out with friends and came back-by taxi-after dark. It's good to know that somewhere in Tanzania, there's a door I can knock on, at any time of the day or night, and be welcomed.

Also, I'd forgotten how beautiful the mountains in Morogoro are. I went hiking there for the first time. After living in arid Arusha region, they are incredibly green! Every slope is planted with vegetable fields or banana trees, everything that's not cultivated is covered with the native trees and vegetables. When you hike in the U.S., you're usually in the wilderness, where no one lives. When you hike in Tanzania, even in the mountains, you're often walking past peoples' farms and houses.

Mpwapwa: This is an area in Dodoma region. Dodoma is in the center of the country and is famous for being dry, flat, and boring. It's a false rumor. Dodoma may be dry, but Mpwapwa is mountainous and beautiful. We went hiking again here. The mountains unfortunately had very few trees, and for an obvious reason: there were charcoal-making fires everywhere. People climb up the mountain, cut down a tree, and set it on fire. The burning tree is then buried under sand and dirt, where it continues to smolder and turn into charcoal. Days later, the person who cut the tree will return to bag the charcoal, and drag it down the mountain to sell it. It's hard work. And it's devastating for the forests. But until people have a better, equally cheap fuel to cook with, it's a problem that's going to continue.

Dodoma: the parliamentary capital of Tanzania! It's hot. And dry. But the city is spacious and well-planned. I'm on the way to visit a friend's school, and will write more about it when I return.

What am I doing here?

2008-06-17T23:17:00.000-07:00

Something that's been on my mind a lot lately. What do I want to achieve here in Tanzania? How am I trying to change things? What do I want to leave behind? In short, what am I doing here?

It's not an easy question. A lot of people who join the Peace Corps are idealists, myself included. And we want to leave something concrete behind. A library that we built, a computer lab we founded, a science lab we improved. Or we want to know we did something big and useful: started a health club that trained hundreds of students, or founded a school garden that fed vegetables to the whole school. There's a peculiar pressure in being a Peace Corps volunteer, of wanting to do one's job of teaching well, while also wanting to save the world.

Which brings us back to the question, what am I doing here? On a daily basis, I'm not saving the world. I'm simply teaching. I'm explaining the structure of the ear or the meaning of chemical formulas. I'm correcting notebooks or writing exams. My daily life of teaching is not so different from teaching in the U.S. Nor does it feel particularly heroic. It's simply a job-a good job, a job I enjoy, but a job nonetheless.

I'm not coming in with perseverance and expertise to save a desperate school. My school is well run and is considered the best in the district. Most of the teachers are motivated, and most of the classes are taught. The headmaster is there whenever he doesn't have to travel for business, and he's quick to address any problems the school is having. On some days, I'll look out at the school and think, I'm not needed here. And by this I don't mean that my teaching isn't important, or that I'm not having some kind of influence, but that the school would run perfectly fine without me. Which is a good thing and gives me great hope for the future of my village.

But it does leave me adrift. What is my purpose here? What am I here to achieve? Perhaps more importantly, what do I want to achieve? I'm wandering, searching for a place where my skills will be useful, where I can do something that couldn't have done without me.

Searching. It's a common position in life: searching for meaning, searching for a place. I'll let you know when I find mine.

From bush to banana jungle to beach

2008-06-17T22:54:00.000-07:00

I'm currently on a trip that will take me through several regions of Tanzania. In the last few days I've travelling, I've gotten a good reminder of just how varied this place is.

First day: my site. Corn fields and cows as far as the eye can see. A hazy, bluish Ngorongoro in the distance.

Second day: Masai land. The classic African bush. Plains spotted with low shrubs and the occasional trees, Masai herders who look like they could have come out of National Geographic in their traditional shukas (though they probably have cell phones as well).

Third day: The slopes of Kilimanjaro. A banana tree jungle, steep windy roads, so much vegetation that you never know what's around the corner or what's past the nearest house. And--had it not been hidden by clouds--the peak of Kilimanjaro, watching over the scene.

Now: The coast. Dar es Salaam: large buildings, traffic jams, crowds everywhere. Passing by the Indian Ocean in the morning on the way to the Peace Corps office. Palm trees, humidity. Mall grocery stores selling Kelloggs' cereal and American candy, at double what they would cost in the U.S. A world away from my cows and corn.

Next: Dodoma and the desert. And then back to my site, passing from the desert to the coast to the bush to my cornfields again. Magazines may show Africa as all jungle, or as only an endless savannah. But in Tanzania,you take a three hour bus ride, and you're in another world. And not only is the landscape different, the tribal language and customs could be worlds away from the place you just left.

Mnaada day

2008-06-08T01:42:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was mnaada day in town. The mnaada (which may be spelled mnada) is a cross between a livestock auction, market, and county fair. It's held on the seventh of every month, and it's a huge social event. People come from towns all over the area, as much to see each other as to bargain for cheap prices on cloth, pots, used clothes, plastic containers . . . and goats, cows, chickens, and sheep.

The mnaada is held on a field on the outskirts of town. Looking at it from the road, one sees a huge crowd of people, with daladalas (minibuses) and herds of livestock on the outskirts. And there's a haze of smoke and dust, from the countless people trampling on the dusty ground and the many fires grilling meat.

The mnaada is both exhilarating and overwhelming. You plunge into the crowd and shouts from the sellers assault you from all sides. "Kitenge cloth! Kitenge cloth only 4000 shillings!" "Pots! Pots for sale!" "Sugar cane, sugar cane!" It's especially overwhelming if you're white and therefore, clearly rich and interested in buying souvenirs. "Mzungu! Here!" "My friend, bananas!" "Masai beads, Masai necklaces!"

All the mnaada needs is some cotton candy, fiddle music, and a ferris wheel, and it'd be a county fair. It has its own fair food: sugar cane (which is rarely available in town at other times), grilled meat, sodas. It has the livestock and the jostling crowds of people. And, above all, it has the same function of being a social occasion. Realistically, there's not much you can get at the mnaada that's not available on a daily basis. The prices may be better, but they're not necessarily so much better that they're worth the fare to town and back. And sometimes, people will only come back with one or two things: a pot, a cup or two. But you don't go to the mnaada just to buy things, you go there because it's the big event in town, the monthly festival, the change from day to day life. In my mind, that's the main function it serves, and that's why all the students want permission to leave school early and go to town on the seventh of every month.

Random stories

2008-06-07T02:29:00.000-07:00

The computer I'm typing on has spacebar issues, which makes writing long entries rather frustrating. So, quickly:
-biked the 21 km to town for the first time today. Verdict: exhausting but exhilarating, worth doing once in a while but it won't become my usual way of reaching town. And after biking on a dirt road for 21 km,the paved road in town felt amazing.
-Proctored (here they say invigiliated) 9 out of 10 final exams. Yikes. I think I'm getting better at catching cheating, but there's a lot of it. New rule: one student goes to the bathroom at a time, no taking pens or paper. As the test reaches its end, general panic and a ton of note-passing set in, and I end up snatching a lot of exams out of student hands before time is up. It makes for some good stories, but it's by far my least favorite job at school.

Six months!

2008-06-07T02:15:00.001-07:00

Just passed my six month anniversary at site on June 1. Half a year! These days, my village feels like home and the U.S. feels very distant. It's going to be strange returning to the U.S. 1.5 years from now.
Six months also means the end of my first term teaching; vacation began Friday. Or perhaps I should say 'vacation', as the Form 2 and Form 4 students return Monday, and study through all of break (they have national exams coming up). I plan to travel for part of break, but will be teaching my Form 2 students chemistry on the days that I'm around.

Usafiri (travel)

2008-05-17T04:03:00.000-07:00

Yesterday:
Awoke at 4:40 am and finished packing my bags. In a taxi to the Dar es Salaam bus station with three other volunteers by 5:15 am. On a bus by 5:50 am, on my way to Arusha by 6:15 am. We pass Tanga region, Moshi, Arusha. But clearly, Arusha isn't far enough in one day (actually I just hate spending the night in hectic, hassle-filled Arusha). So I continue to the town near my village. Arrival time in town: 7:15 pm. Arrival time at my sitemate's house: 8 pm. Nimechoka! [I'm tired!] Thanks god for sitemates who live in town and cook delicious dinners :-).

Today: Reach town from my sitemate's house at 10:30 am. Race to a town 35 minutes away to buy fruit tree seedlings for my school; daladala driver wants me to pay fare for myself and the heavy box of trees despite the fact that the car is half empty; I argue and almost lose my temper. (a sure sign that I'm sick of travel, but it worked, I only paid one fare). Carry the heavy box of trees the 2 minute walk to the village car. And if the car leaves on time, I'll be headed back to my village 15 minutes from now. It will be nice to be home. And I would say, it would be nice to rest, but there are clothes to wash, lessons to plan, neighbors who will want news . . . ah well, at least school vacation is only a few weeks away.

Mshamba

2008-05-13T05:36:00.001-07:00

Mshamba is the Tanzanian word for a country hick. An mshamba is the kind of person who gazes in awe at a shower and has never used a computer.

I think I've become an mshamba.

Admittedly, I have used a computer. And while I'm pleased to be taking showers instead of bucket baths in Dar, I'm not at the gazing-in-awe stage yet. That said, here's proof of my transformation into an mshamba:

1) Instead of buying food for the trip from my village to Moshi, I brought three cobs of boiled corn wrapped in paper bags. One cob came from my garden; two from my neighbors garden. Both were given to me by a neighbor who was concerned I'd be hungry in Moshi, and was insistent that I had to take two corn cobs from her, one could never be enough. I pulled out these corn cobs to snack on in Moshi (one fellow volunteer: "You can buy cookies out the bus window, you know.").

2) There's a ceiling fan? A light switch? Oh . . . I should probably stop sitting here in the heat and dark. (I've gotten better about remembering the light switches since I've been visiting my sitemate, but I definitely forgot about the fan).

3) A thought that popped into my head: there are a lot of cars in Dar!

I have the feeling that my transformation to an mshamba has only begun. Actually, I think it's fate (maybe that's why I've always liked country music?). But that's okay, I'm at peace with my fate: I like boiled corn, prefer my tranquil cornfields to the hassle of cars and crowds, and would choose the occasionally annoying knocks of neighbors and acquaintances at my door over the anonymity over the city any day. Though I'll admit, I may be alone in this: I've met a lot of young rural Tanzanians who want to go live in Arusha or Dar es Salaam. As they say, the grass is always greener on the other site of the rural/urban divide.

Dar es Salaam

2008-05-13T05:20:00.000-07:00

The first thing you notice when you arrive in Dar is that it's hot. Really hot. You go out shopping at 8:40 in the morning, and it's already hot. By 10 am you're covered in sweat, but it's so humid that the sweat doesn't help.

The second thing you notice is the people. Everywhere. There are the endless lines of taxi drivers who are convinced that all white people on foot must want a taxi. There are the beggars that are found in every city, though one can't help but notice that their physical problems here are often worse than those of the beggars in America. And then there are the every day people: shopkeepers, shoeshiners, sellers of newspapers, sellers of cell-phone vouchers, watch repairmen, businessmen, people who are running to catch a daladala to somewhere and people who are just sitting and watching the traffic go by. There are blacks Tanzanians, of all tribes, mostly in modern dress, occasionally in tribal dress. There are Indian Tanzanians who speak Swahili and whose families have lived in Dar es Salaam for generations. And there are the occasional wazungu (white people), tourists or students or expats who work in Dar.

Coming into Dar after 7.5 months in Tanzania, it doesn't feel foreign. The palm trees no longer seem exotic; Kiswahili sounds more natural than English. It seems perfectly normal for people to walk around selling clothes, bottles of water, and random knickknacks. When coming into Dar after living in a Tanzanian village, what strikes one is not how exotic it seems, but how developed it is. The roads are paved! There are supermarkets! And bookstores that sell novels! Not to mention ice cream, Indian food, Lebanese food, and coffee that's not powdered.

Dar es Salaam is certainly not New York. There are power outages. Tap water has to be boiled before drinking. Public transportation consists of crowded small minivans (daladalas), most of which are far beyond their prime. The city probably has a host of problems which will never be noticed by a Peace Corps volunteer who's merely passing through. Despite the existence of supermarkets, paved roads, and ice cream, Dar is no doubt dealing with the problems of development facing cities throughout Africa.

But. Living in a village definitely puts things in perspective. Things like electricity, pavement, and well-supplied stores suddenly seem more rare and exotic than banana trees and mangoes. After months in rural Tanzania, Dar doesn't feel like an undeveloped foreign country. It feels like America.

On the road again

2008-05-11T02:00:00.000-07:00

It strikes me as ironic that the Peace Corps wants us to stay at our sites and integrate with our communities, and that they stress over and over again at seminars that we should stay at our sites and integrate. I want to stay at my site and integrate. Really, I do. You can ask my fellow PCVs: they call me a site rat because I never come and visit them. But while I would be perfectly happy to stay at my site, eat the now ripe corn from my garden, and continue keeping an eye on the papaya tree that's about to have ripe fruit which will probably be stolen while I'm gone, the Peace Corps keeps dragging me away from my site for training.

And so, I'm on the road again. This time I'm going to Dar es Salaam for training. I wasn't particularly happy to get this news: I don't like Dar, partly because it's humid and partly because I'm not a fan of big cities. But since I'm travelling anyway, I do plan to enjoy myself, catch up on errands, and take full advantage of the free Internet at the Peace Corps office. It should be fun catching up with all the other PCVs who will be in Dar, some of whom I haven't seen since the end of November, and some of whom I've never met.

The timing of the travelling is unfortunate: we only have three weeks of teaching left in the semester, followed by a week of finals. Since there are no substitute teachers in Tanzania, I've spent much of the past week preparing work for the students to do while I'm going. On Wednesday morning, during the 1.5 hour religion period, I biked to the catholic mission to get some notes I'd written photocopied for my chemistry students. For my biology students, I gathered together all the biology books I could find, as well as 18 pieces of flip chart paper, 18 markers, and a large amount of masking tape. On Friday I divided these materials between my three classes. If all goes well, I'll come back to walls covered with beautiful pictures of the eye, ear, skin, endocrine system, and reflex arcs. (If all doesn't go so well, there will be no pictures, all my marker pens will be dead, and I'll never be able to recover my books. I expect the true outcome to be somewhere in the middle.)

I'm currently in Moshi paying for internet, so I'll leave this update/rant for now. More news and stories coming when I reach the free internet in Dar.

Border crossings

2008-04-26T03:21:00.000-07:00

Some of you know that I've become slightly addicted to the Voice of America music request show, Border Crossings, and had asked friends and family to request songs for me. Well, last week I heard two requests for me in two days. Thanks! And even better is that in the second request, the announcer mentioned "We've heard a lot of requests for Peace Corps volunteer Kristen in Tanzania--from her grandparents, her family, her friends . . . in fact we've heard from everyone except Kristen herself!"

Your requests make me very happy, keep them up! Send an e-mail to bordercrossings@voa.gov with a song that you think I'd like to hear, and make sure to mention my name and your name, and maybe include a short message as well. Unfortunately I don't catch the show every day (sometimes I return late from school or neighbors come by to visit). But chances are I'll catch at least some requests, and if I'm lucky similarly-addicted PCVs will tell me about the requests I didn't catch.

(As for what types of music I like . . . I listen to a lot of country, folk, and oldies. But really any song that you think I'd like is fine, feel free to surprise me.)

Madaftari (notebooks)

2008-04-26T02:46:00.000-07:00

All day yesterday, students were knocking on the door of my office. They would enter, looking rather embarassed, and hand me a notebook that they'd been holding at their side and behind their back. When I returned to my office from teaching, I would meet students standing outside it, or they would simply follow me there.

Why all the concern about notebooks? Well, they have mid-terms next week. And the message that their homework average is 15 points of their mid-term has finally gotten through.

In short: my students are panicking.

So, I thought I had explained my grading system. But admittedly the explanation was in rather bad Kiswahili. I hadn't figured out the Kiswahili word for points, or even the Tanzanian English word (now I know: the homework is 15 marks, maksi kumi na tano, of their midterm). I figured since my explanation probably wasn't very good, I'd give them the chance to make up the homeworks they missed.

Now the fun begins. I wrote four sets of make-up questions, each focusing on a different topic we'd covered. I posted all four sets on the walls of all the Form II classrooms. Then, on Friday, instead of teaching, I wrote review questions on the board for the students to work on. I then went around my chem classes and told every student how many marks they currently had for homework. This was a huge pain in the neck, but had the side benefit of helping me learn the names of several students. I may have doubled the number of names I know!

I told the students they had until Tuesday to give me their make-up problems. Well, apparently I caused a high level of panic, because by Friday afternoon there was a huge pile of notebooks on my desk. And a large crowd of students pushing notebooks at me for me to correct immediately, then quoting the Vodacom ad "faster faster faster" while waiting for me to recalculate their grade and write the new grade in my notebook. Including students I had concluded didn't exist from the number of zeros in my notebook)

(By the way, they say Americans are impatient! Panicked students have us beat.)

So. You may be wondering, why do I bother giving homework, and putting myself through all this trouble? Admittedly, it's a huge pain. I collect homework from all my form II chem students ever Wednesday. If they all gave me their notebooks, that would be 150 notebooks. It's probably good that only half of them consistently do homework, as it's hard enough to correct 75 notebooks and return them by Thursday afternoon.

Plus there's the problem of cheating. I know my students copy homework from each other. I have yet to mention it to them because I feel that if I fight cheating, I should conduct an all-out war, not do it halfway. And I really don't have time to compare all their notebooks against each other to see who's copying from who.

Oh, and there's the problem of posting questions. We have no photocopier. I write two copies of the questions by hand, and use carbon paper to make a second copy of each of these two copies. I then post the questions on the classroom walls. Students then take them off the wall to copy into their notebook, and sometimes don't return them. I really don't have a good answer for the students who come to me and say "I want to do the homework, but the questions are gone."

So: given all the trouble, why give homework? And if I'm going to give homework, why correct it? And if I'm going to correct it, why count the grade if I know they're cheating?

My current answer: first, I want to keep their minds on chemistry. If they have to do homework every week, that means they're thinking about chemistry at least a little each week. And it means at least some of them are doing practice problems every week--problems which I don't have time to give them in class, but which they need to do to learn the topic well.

As for counting homework to their grade, well, it motivates some who otherwise wouldn't do the homework. And even if they copy off each other, someone has to be doing the problems that other people are copying. Plus it forces them to write sets of chemistry questions and answers in their notebook, which they'll be able to study later.

In an ideal world, my students would be self-motivated, all do their problems by themselves, and stop stealing my valuable copies of homework questions from the wall. Things aren't ideal here. But I feel like the homework is worth the trouble, even if I go slightly crazy every time I receive a giant pile of notebooks.

"Nimekuja kukusalimia"

2008-04-08T00:20:00.001-07:00

On Sunday, I went to the Catholic church with a friend. I had promised to go to lunch at another friend's house after returning. But almost as soon as I returned to my house from church, there was a knock at the door.

"Shikamoo!"

It was a kid who looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't remember from where.

"Nimekuja kukusalimia." I came to greet you. Followed by a further explanation: I came from town, from Peter's school.

Peter is my sitemate. He lives in town, 21 km away by dirt road. This kid is a neighbor of his, who I've met on the two occasions I've stayed overnight at Peter's. He's very polite and seems like a good kid, but we've never really had a conversation. He comes by in the evenings to greet Peter, sees me, and becomes very shy. The last time I was there, Peter invited him in, but he just stood in the doorway, too shy around me to enter.

And then, this Sunday, he showed up at my door. As far as I can gather, he rode 21 km just to come by and say hi. Despite having never been to my village, and not knowing anyone else there. He also arrived with a broken bike, which we spent 2.5 hours trying to fix. I was then going to offer for him to stay the night, but he said confidently that he could get back in an hour and a half, and jumped on his bike and rode off. No such luck--I hear from my sitemate that his bike broke on the way back. He walked the 21 km back to town and arrived a bit after dark.

Why did he ride 21 km to visit me? Was he simply looking for an adventure and thought, well, I know someone in that village? Did he have another reason for going to the village that he didn't tell me? Or did he just want to see me? I have no idea. But I wish I'd had a better greeting than "Er . . . how are you?"

Books

2008-04-08T00:00:00.000-07:00

Books are a valuable commodity at my school. Most students don't have them, and if they do, they're generally dog-eared, taped, well-used books. We do have a school library, built by the last volunteer, but it's small and has little space to sit down and flip through books. Also, book-lending by the library is unfortunately on hold, as a very large number of students have taken out books and not returned them.

Some examples of how valuable books are:

-I've been doing after-school chemistry question and answer sessions once or twice a week. I always bring a large pile of chemistry books with me. As soon as I put the books down at a desk, students race forward to take them. For the next hour and a half, there are three to five students clustered around each book, sounding out the English words and staring at the color pictures. I generally sit and read a novel or write a letter while this is going on, and wait for them to bring me questions. There are maybe two or three questions per session. But 20 to 30 students come, and I almost always end up staying late because they don't want to give up the books.
-Sometimes I bring textbooks to my biology class to show them pictures of the things I'm teaching about. Whenever I do this, I end up staying late, as the students invariably want to continue flipping through the book and asking me questions about it.
-And the half life of books in my hand has become alarmingly short. I'll admit it, I'm a sucker for lending out books. If my students want to learn, who am I to deny them? But this can be a problem when I lend out rather useful books such as my English-Kiswahili dictionary, and the students are late to return them . . . I'm still trying to think of a better lending system.

Coming attractions

2008-03-25T07:04:00.000-07:00

Some plans for the future:

-getting our school science labs up and running. We have labs and they're fairly well-supplied. Unfortunately, they're also a mess and a bit of a health hazard. But another PCV recently visited me and helped me clean them (thanks!), and with the help of some students, I hope to get them up and running soon

-a health club at the girls' hostel. Half the female students live at a hostel at the school. What better audience to teach things like AIDS prevention and safe sex, not to mention self-confidence and the ability to say no?

-fruit trees. Actually, we just planted fruit trees in the school garden. But I'd like to plant some by my house as well.

-teaching! Okay, so I've been teaching for a while now. But there have been a lot of random interruptions. I'm hoping once we return from mid-term break, the teaching will be more consistent and I'll be able to get back in the swing of things (and catch my classes up!)

Jambo!

2008-03-25T06:43:00.003-07:00

Warning: here follows a long overdue rant.

If you ask a random American for a single word of Swahili, their most likely response will be "Jambo!". There's even a children's picture book with the line, "Jambo means hello."

Just one problem.

Jambo does NOT mean hello. You will never hear a Tanzanian saying "jambo" to another Tanzanian. Yes, you will hear jambo,and you'll hear it a lot if you walk the streets of Moshi, Arusha, or Dar. But it doesn't simply mean "hello". It means, hi, you're a tourist. Or hi, tourist, can I sell you something? Or, hello, foreigner-who-doesn't-know-Swahili, taxi? Or possibly just, hello, foreigner.

I admit, there's nothing intrinsically wrong with being greeted "jambo." Sometimes people are just trying to be friendly, and maybe they've heard that white people only understand the greeting "jambo." But. If you've been in Tanzania six months, live in a village, know your way around, and are possibly too proud of your integration and Kiswahili skills for your own good, "jambo" gets very annoying very fast. It feels like after six months in Tanzania, we should be recognized as something other than a tourist. And in our villages, we are. But as soon as we travel to Dar or Arusha or Moshi, it's back to "Jambo! Taxi?"

How do we deal with this? Sometimes we pull out streams of fluent Swahili: "Hatujambo, mambo vipi, habari za leo?" Other times we go for the tribal greetings. If someone says "Jambo!" in my banking town, I respond "Saitaa?", and am usually rewarded with a grin and a handshake. My favorite response is what two of my friends say to "Jambo, mzungu!": "Mimi siyo mzungu, mimi ni Myao."--I'm not an Mzungu, I'm from the Yao tribe. They then respond with the greetings of the tribe they live with.

As with many of the hassles of living here, there are two ways to choose to respond. You can get annoyed, give the person a dirty look, and respond angrily "Sijambo" (emphasizing the "Si" to show that you know Kiswahili). Or you can smile, hold out your hand, and say "Mambo vipi, saitaa?" Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. But there will always be a few people who grin back and shake your hand, even in the hassle-filled streets of Moshi and Arusha. It's more rewarding than grumbling a "sijambo" and moving on. Which I suppose brings me to the end of my rant on a cheerful note, with one of the things I've learned from the Peace Corps so far: given the choice between silent annoyance and humor, humor usually works best.

Yes! I still exist!

2008-03-25T06:37:00.000-07:00

Over a month since my last entry! I seem to have fallen into the usual Peace Corps blog problem of being incommunicado. Not that I haven't been travelling. My recent schedule looks something like this:

End of February: travel to Moshi for AIDS education conference
Beginning of March: return to site
late-mid-March: leave site, travel to visit a friends' site near Moshi
end of March: Peace Corps training in Moshi

It's been awesome seeing friends at Peace Corps training conferences. And frustrating leaving site twice in two months, especially now that it's starting to feel like home. Oh, and I plan to do my best to remedy the lack of blog entries in my next hour of Internet time. I just hope I can remember what's been happening lately.

Delivery systems

2008-02-23T23:08:00.000-08:00

The methods of delivering things in rural Africa are very different from those in America. For example:

My sitemate and I share a P.O. box. But we only have one key. Since I live farther away and often arrive in town after the post office has closed for the day, I have the key. My sitemate simply walks into the post office and asks for his mail.

This would work well, except the post office workers give him my mail as well as his mail. Usually, we meet in town for lunch and he passes on my mail. But yesterday, he had already left town by the time I arrived. So, we decided he would leave my mail with the people who run one of the internet cafes in town. As back-up, he told me how many pieces of mail there were, so I would know that I had received all of them.

And it worked-I retrieved all of my mail, no problems, no questions asked.

Messages are also passed from person to person via notes in my village. I had a student I had planned to meet with at school one day, but he had to stay home that day to take care of his siblings. That morning, another student handed me a note with my name on it. He doesn't have a cell phone, so he had written a note explaining that he wouldn't be able to come, and given it to a friend to give to me.

The "random person you sort of know" delivery system is also used for more valuable things. I usually give my cell phone to the school guard to charge; most of the time, he returns it to me personally. But occasionally I've had random students hand it to me. This would never work in a city; in a small village, everyone knows who you are and where they can find you if the cell phone doesn't reach its destination.

And another delivery story . . . my Peace Corps passport was passed from a Peace Corps employee to a Peace Corps volunteer in Moshi. It was then passed between four Peace Corps volunteers and my headmaster before reaching me. All people I know, at least . . . and more direct than the post office, as I didn't have to go to town to fetch the passport!

2008-02-22T23:51:00.001-08:00

Off to Moshi!

2008-02-22T23:43:00.000-08:00

I’m off to Moshi for the week for a seminar on AIDS education. It is a much, much needed break. I left yesterday, a day early, and am currently visiting a friend who teaches at a school between my site and Moshi. It’s the first time I’ve been more than an hour away from my site since arriving, and the first time I’ve seen someone from my training group since December 1st.
The journey to Moshi begins with me walking the 2 kilometers from my house to the main road to town in the hot, mid-day sun. As I walk along the dirt road gazing at corn fields, mud huts, and views of the mountain that contains Ngorongoro Crater, one of the school guards rides by on his bicycle and takes one of my two backpacks for me. I meet him and the backpack when I arrive at the main road.
Then, we wait. There are few cars to town at mid-day; he waits with me for forty-five minutes before a bus to Arusha comes through. I board the bus and we’re off to town.
I don’t take the bus all the way to Arusha; I get off at the bus stand in town. When I reach the bus stand, a woman calls out to me from a hoteli near the bus stand “Karibu, welcome!”
It’s definitely past lunchtime and my stomach is grumbling, so I enter the hoteli and eat some of the best beans and rice I’ve had in Tanzania. They even had salsa! And it was half the usual price, only 500 shillings! Some days I have to worry about being cheated because I’m white. Other days I end up with far better deals than I could ever have hoped for. I figured things balance out in the end.
Spent some time on the Internet in town, and picked up the mail my sitemate had dropped off for me at the Internet café. Yep, delivery systems in Tanzania generally involve leaving things with random people you sort of know and hoping they reach their destination. And surprisingly, this system usually.
After the Internet, I headed back to the bus stand and boarded a minibus headed toward Arusha. Got off after about two hours sort of near my friend’s school, boarded a daladala that brought me closer to the school, and then asked random people for directions and was escorted to the school first by two young women, then by two secondary school students. Of course it turned out my friend had been waiting for me at the daladala stop . . . but thanks to the fact that cell phones have come to Tanzania, we found each other in the end.
And tomorrow, we’re off to Moshi. And it will be time for more fun with Tanzanian transportation. Traveling in Tanzania: chaotic, random, and unpredictable. But it usually works out. And no matter what, it always makes a good story.

2008-02-22T23:31:00.000-08:00

2008-02-22T23:27:00.002-08:00

A cheating story

2008-02-22T23:27:00.001-08:00

Students in Tanzania cheat on tests. Well, actually students everywhere cheat on tests. But in Tanzania, you’re more likely to have two students sitting at one desk, which makes it very easy to cheat. And with high-stakes national tests that determine whether you continue in school, the pressure to succeed is very high.
So, cheating on tests, not a surprise. How about cheating on review games?
One of my streams of Form II chemistry is extremely on top of things; about half the students consistently raise their hands and answer my questions. This same stream is extremely competitive. So, when we play a review game, they want to win.
Game 1: students have to match elements with their symbols. I carefully explain that if they look at their notebooks, the game will last all of one minute and we’ll have to return to the boring process of taking notes. Nevertheless, I catch students opening their desks to peer at the notebooks I had made them put away.
Game 2: students have to match properties such as mass, charge, or location with the three sub-atomic particles. First I walk around the class collecting all the notebooks and piling them at the opposite end of the room. Then I erase the notes I had written on the board, to groans from the students. Finally we begin. Three teams. Each team gets nine cards. Whichever team sorts all nine cards correctly first wins.
Moja, mbili, tatu . . . start! The teams lean over clusters of desks, discussing their cards. Then team 1 tells me, “Madame, we are finished.” They hand me their cards. I count them. Seven cards. “I gave you nine cards,” I say. “Where are the other two?” A student pulls them out from inside a desk, looking disappointed.
“Tell me which particles those two cards go with, then you’ll be finished,” I say. They return to organizing cards.
Now team 3 tells me, “Madame, we are finished.” Again, seven cards. Again, the same two cards hidden inside a desk. “Sort those two cards and then tell me you’re finished,” I say.
Finally, team 2. Nine cards. All correctly sorted. Team 2 wins.
Maybe now the students know that cheating doesn’t pay?

Monthly tests

2008-02-22T23:22:00.000-08:00

I gave my first monthly tests this week. Before I continue, let me explain the grading scale in Tanzania. A score between 80 and 100 is an A. 60 to 80 is a B, 40 to 60 is a C, and 20 to 40 is a D. You don’t fail a test unless your score is less than 20.

There’s a reason that grading scale is like this: the average test score is around 50. And after correcting many tests where students scored 6, 12, or 20 percent, I’m starting to look at 50 as a good score.

This is not to say that none of my students did well. I had a lot of scores in the nineties in my Form I chemistry class, and each class had at least a few students who scored in the 80s or 90s. But I tend to be optimistic and delude myself that my students understand everything I say . . . which clearly wouldn’t be true even in the U.S., where the students would at least speak English better. I need to keep reminding myself to put things in perspective and judge my students’ performance my Tanzanian standards. After all, a student who got 44% on the chemistry test told me it was the highest score she had ever received in chemistry!

Ups and downs on the Tanzanian roller coaster

2008-02-09T00:20:00.000-08:00

Here it is: a short list of good things and bad things from the past few weeks.

Ups:
Having my chemistry students act out the structure of an atom. Two students stood still in the center, as a proton and a neutron. A third raced around and around this "nucleus" as the electron. Lots of laughter :-).

Planted my garden last Saturday. The radishes, mchicha (local spinach), and collard greens have sprouted, still waiting on the carrots and green peppers. And the beans and corn that a friend planted for me two weeks ago are looking good.

Played 3-on-3 ultimate frisbee with some students. My team was winning for the first hour, but after an hour and a half of play we started to tire and the other team began winning (final score: 35 to 20. It was a very small field :-) ). If all goes well, we'll be organizing a school league, with games every Tuesday.

Downs:
Sometimes you can't win. One of my biology students wrote "Form 3: speak English" as a message to me on the board. A few minutes later, a second student asked me to re-explain something in Kiswahili. Either the ones who know english well think I'm talking down to them by using Kiswahili, or the ones who don't know english well are lost . . .

2008-02-08T23:51:00.000-08:00

I could write a long rant about the various annoyances and frustrations of Tanzanian village life. Or I could write a cheerful entry full of all the great things that have happened in the past two weeks. Life here is like a roller coaster. It's exhilaring, intense, and often there's too much happening to process it well. And you could describe it as awesome or as a huge pain-in-the-neck: it just depends on what mood you're in and which events you decide to focus on.

I guess the biggest news is that we had visitors at my school. Yes, other white people in the village! There was a woman from Austria and a woman from Switzerland, who somehow represent some NGO which may give us money to build a library and increase the size of our hostel.

So, what does this all mean for the school? Well, a day off for the students, and a day of acting as a translator for me. We gave the visitors a tour, then the students put on performances for them, and the headmaster made a speech. We decided to switch roles for translating: the headmaster spoke first in English, and I translated into Kiswahili. The students seemed to enjoy it, especially when I acted out words I didn't know. Lots of laughter when I was talking about how small the library is and pretended to stand stiffly in a crowded room, as I don't yet know the Kiswahili word for "crowded".

Oh, and it was nice not being the honored guest for once. (But benefiting from the lunch prepared for the honoroed guests!)

Quick, random updates

2008-01-26T00:42:00.000-08:00

-cooking: yep, I'm back to being cooked for. Which is probably a good thing, since teaching takes up a good deal of my time. Teachers get free lunch at school, as well as tea and chapati at tea breaks. And I go over to the headmaster's house for breakfast and dinner (a good deal, since I'm friends with the person who cooks for him, and if she's cooking for him anyway it's not much extra work to cook for me)
-bought a liter of honey from a guy selling it out of a bucket. There's a 3 inch deep layer of beeswax at the top, but the honey itself is delicious.
-it hailed during one of my chemistry lessons. This made it very hard to teach as hail on a tin roof is rather loud. But it was also awesome timing--I was teaching about solids, liquids, and gases, and then solid water fell from the sky to provide props for the class!
(and, teaching by miming was kind of fun)
-brought out my frisbee for the first time and got a large crowd of Tanzanian students surrounding me wanting to play. All boys though, the girls stood and watched from a distance. I may be on my way to planning a frisbee tournament.
-the rains have begun, and lots of people are planting. Some of them use tractors. A lot of them use plows pulled by oxen. And some of them prepare large fields by hand using a hoe. Sometimes I feel like I've stepped back in time.

Two class rules

2008-01-19T02:42:00.000-08:00

My two class rules:
1) Ukijitahidi kujifunza, nitajitahidi kukufundisha (if you try hard to learn, I will try hard to teach you)
2) Kuuliza si ujinga. Usiogope kusema! (Asking is not stupidity. Don't be afraid to speak).

The first one covers all those things that are a pain to list because students are sick of hearing them-be on time, bring a notebook, listen in class. And it's fun to mime sleeping in class and coming late when I explain the rule.

The second one always makes them laugh when I write it on the board. And now whenever the class is silent, I can bark out "Usiogope kusema!" Actually, now that I think of it, maybe this is why they seem a bit afraid of me . . . but they are starting to raise their hands and to be willing to come to the board, and I've had a few great moments when most of the class is participating.

Teaching at last

2008-01-19T02:29:00.000-08:00

I started teaching this week. So much has happened in one week that I can't possibly fit it all here, but I'll try to include some good stories.

Overall impression: exhausting but exhilarating, and most of the time I enjoy it. My classes have around 40 students, who are amazingly well-behaved, possibly because they're still afraid of me. Hopefully this good behavior lasts for a while . . .

Some stories:
-Form III biology is learning about conifers and flowering plants. I found the only pine tree in the village at the catholic mission, and got some rather dried-up needles to bring to class. The students ID'ed them as monocots in one class, and as mosses in another. Not so many conifers in Africa.
-Form II chemistry is learning that matter is made up of particles, and also about mixtures vs. compounds vs. elements. It's rather hard to explain how we know a stone is a mixture. I also explained that milk is a mixture, and then got asked how to separate it into its components (er . . . start by boiling it to remove water? Precipitate the proteins?)
-spent some time in the school lab trying to see Brownian motion. The labs are dusty but reasonably well-supplied. And I find the smell of the chemical storage room strangely comforting. All those solvent fumes bring back good memories of Reed :-).
-I've been appointed the teacher in charge of the school gardens, despite protesting my general lack of knowledge of gardening. This appointment may have something to do with the large garden-in-progress behind my house (which I've had a lot of help on). Actually, I'm fairly happy to be teacher in charge of gardening rather than, say, teacher in charge of sports and games. Once I actually learn what I'm doing, it will be a good opportunity to test out some of the permaculture techniques the peace corps taught us.
-How a typical class starts:
I walk in. Students stand. "Good morning teacher!" Me: "Good morning class! How are you?" Class: "We are fine." Me: "You may sit"
-And, I continue to have an amazing talent for getting chalk all over my clothes.

Shaking hands and kissing babies

2007-12-26T00:07:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I haven't kissed any babies, but I do feel like a politician. I went to the Catholic church in town with my hosts for Christmas, and introduced myself to the congregation both at midnight mass and the next morning. After mass I shook a lot of hands and had lunch at the preacher's house. Not to mention donating some money for a children's celebration at the church. I always feel like I'm on the spot in these situations: I need to make a lot of small talk and make a good impression, because these are people who could help me out in the future. It's exhausting. But hopefully it will pay off in the end.

Also, I heard "Jingle Bells" on Radio Tanzania last night. It made me happy.

The art of being a guest

2007-12-25T23:51:00.000-08:00

Here in Tanzania, the art of being a guest is the art of eating. At breakfast you're served three slices of bread, three hard-boiled eggs, popcorn, sweet milk tea, and a variety of fruits. You're pleasantly full at the end, having left one egg uneaten. Then you go to church, and you're invited to eat in the preacher's house after the meal. Now you're very full. But you return to the house your staying at, and two hours later, you're served lunch. And then that evening, there's dinner. And people always look so disappointed when they say "ongeza" (take more) and you respond "Nimeshiba" (I'm full).

The art of being a guest is also the art of being shown around. It's polite, but that doesn't mean it's not annoying after a while. You go to the market to buy things, happy to have reached it by yourself for the first time. But there's a seller at the market who heard you introduce yourself at the church the previous night, and wants to help you around the market and the stores in town. You don't know exactly what you want at the market, so you feel like you're probably getting on her nerves being so indecisive. But you're also bad at being assertive, saying "really I'm fine by myself," and going off to shop alone as you had originally hoped and planned. It sucks feeling like a small child all the time.

The art of being a guest is the art of being served. Unfortunately, this may also mean you have nothing to do. Outside the house, people are cooking, washing dishes, cutting vegetables. You're sitting on the couch in silence with your host. You know that if you offer to help, they'll turn you done. But you're at a loss for something to do with your time.

The art of being a guest is the art of shaking a lot of hands, making a lot of small talk, sitting through awkward silences without feeling too awkward. It's an art where life takes less effort and you don't have to worry about heating water for your morning shower, sweeping your floors, or lighting the charcoal stove for your next meal. But it's also an art where, because everything is done for you, you don't know what to do with yourself and you start to feel incompetent. Often it's better to be lost, exhausted, and overwhelmed than to be sitting bored and very full with absolute nothing to challenge you. It's nice being a guest every now and then. But after being here three months, and being a guest nearly every day of those months, I'm ready to stand on my own and stop being served all the time.

Kupika ni kazi! (Cooking is work!)

2007-12-24T01:54:00.000-08:00

I'm finally learning to cook for myself. This may sound amusing given that I had no problems cooking in America, and in fact I was confident about my cooking abilities here until I actually tried cooking. Things that differ between Tanzanian and American cooking:
-stoves. I use kerosene if I'm in a hurry, but most of the time I use the cheaper and more common charcoal stove. It takes time. First you have to break up the charcoal into small enough pieces and put it in the stove, turning your hands a pleasant black color. Then you put some pieces of wood on top, douse the whole thing in kerosene, light it with a match, and wait. After five or ten minutes it stops smoking and can be used without imparting that pleasant charcoal taste to your food.
-"chagua" (to choose). Any dry goods have to be picked through for rocks before use. You put the rice on a wide, flat basket, pick out the rocks, shake it to move everything around, pick out more rocks, and continue until the chances of hearing a crunching sound as you eat your rice are reasonably low. This is also done with beans, dried peas, lentils, chickpeas . . .
-oil and salt. The main Tanzanian spices. Rice is cooked with oil and salt, as is pasta. Originally I planned to reduce my oil and salt intake as soon as I started cooking for myself; unfortunately, by now I've gotten used to it. And the good thing about cooking rice with oil and salt is that it tastes good even if you have nothing to eat with it.
-no counters. Food prep is generally done while sitting on a small bench, with the pot of food on the ground. Tanzanians don't use cutting boards, though this is one American habit I plan to retain for fear of cutting myself.
-no handles on the pots (I use small cloths to grip them; a lot of people have hands of leather and use their hands)
-no fridge. Throw out the extra food, or, better yet, store it in a hot pot and boil before eating again the next day.

Church

2007-12-24T01:32:00.000-08:00

On Sunday i went to the Pentecostal church in the village. As I walked into the tin-roofed mud building with pink flowers on the walls, I felt like I had stepped into the American South in the 1930s. The Pentecostals here are all about music, and about half the service was singing, accompanied by a drum, two guitars, a rattle made from circular pieces of metal hanging on nails from a small cross, and a horseshoe-shaped piece of metal hit with a metal rod to make a sound like a bell. The music and enthusiastic singing was quite beautiful. The preaching was very emotional and intense compared to the more sedate Catholic service I went to last week, but the preacher was nice and introduced me to the congregation (this sort of thing happens often enough that I've stopped being embarassed by it).

So, why all the sudden going to church? Well, mostly because people want to take me. I previously stated that there are two churches in the village; actually, there are at least three. I've now been to all of them and met all the preachers, not to mention the Catholic monks and nuns (one of which is the only other white person in the village!--he's a Swiss monk who must be at least 70). They're generally friendly and they're good people to know in a place where religion has such an influence. Plus, it's always fun to answer the religion question (well, my father's Catholic, sort of, my mother's Jewish . . .).

Pictures

2007-12-18T00:52:00.001-08:00

Also, I may have forgotten to post this here: pictures are at http://www.flickr.com/photos/kgtanzania

Transportation

2007-12-18T00:40:00.001-08:00

Transportation is a problem here. To get to the nearest town, I have to take a land-rover filled with up to 17 people. It moves slowly and bumpily over the dirt roads. The roof is loaded with everything from spare tires to bags of grain to peoples' purchases from town. And so far, we've had to stop on nearly every trip I've taken to change a flat tire.

I wouldn't say it's particularly dangerous, because we drive slowly. We have to. The road is fortunately dry right now, but it's rocky and bumpy. When it starts raining harder, we'll be struggling through mud and puddles.

In the U.S., you don't really think too much about going to town. Here, I have to remember to buy all the things that aren't available in the village: carrots, green peppers, oranges, plastic buckets, pitchers . . . either we don't have them or they're more expensive due to the transportation costs. Then I need time to use a computer, to go to the bank, to fax forms to the Peace Corps. All between our arrival in town at 11 am and our departure at 4 pm. It can be done, but it's hectic. And it really reminds you that you are living in a small town, in a rural area, when you go to the local market for tomatoes and they tell you you'll have to return in the evening after the truck from town arrives.

Some stories

2007-12-07T01:17:00.000-08:00

A few stories from my first week at site:

-being near Ngorongoro crater, I was afraid there would be tourists everywhere. Actually I have yet to see another white person in my village. And the children there are definitely excited to see me. There's a certain house that I walk by on the way to the stores in the village, and every time I walk past it, a crowd of five children comes running toward me, calling "Shikamoo!" (a respectful greeting for elders). Then they take my hand and follow me into the village, occasionally rubbing my arm to see what white skin feels like, and looking at me with these big, curious smiles.

-everyone I've met speaks Kiswahili, but there's also a local language called Kiiraqw or Kimbulu. It's very guttural and sounds a lot like Arabic. I know a few of the greetings; every time I use them, people laugh and shake my hand.

-for the first time in my life, I have my own house. Although it often feels more like common properties. People are always knocking on the door, calling "Hodi?" (basically "Can I come in?"), or just walking in to see where I am. Most of the time this doesn't bother me; it's nice to have the company, and I'm just as welcome to "Hodi?" at their house as they are at mine. And will probably be given tea if I do. It does make it hard to learn things like cooking, though, as if I do something even a little wrong they'll ask to help me and will end up simply cooking for me.

-did you know that you can slaughter a chicken for dinner, have it sit in a cabinet all night, fry the leftovers in oil at lunch, boil the leftovers from that for dinner, and not get sick? (so far, knock on wood). The things you learn when you don't have a fridge. And I haven't slaughtered a chicken, but I have watched and plucked some feathers. If it were my own choice, I would probably be basically vegetarian here, but people keep cooking for me and I figure if I am going to eat meat, I shouldn't mind seeing it prepared.

-my house had almost nothing when I moved in--only a few buckets, a charcoal stove, a kerosene stove, a kerosene lamp, and some random furniture (fortunately including a bed and table). People have been awesome about lending things to me, from flour for ugali to pots and cooking implements. It's helping, but right now things still feel very temporary and disorganized. I did hang a map of the world, some pictures from home, and periodic table on my living room wall. So now I feel a bit settled in and I have something to point to when guests ask "where exactly in America are you from?"

Of cattle and cellphones

2007-12-07T00:53:00.000-08:00

I've been at my site for almost a week now. A quick description of my village:

Sometimes I feel like I'm in Montana. Other times I feel like I've just stepped out of a Peace Corps brochure. There are grassy, rolling plains with grazing cattle being herded by small boys. There are mountains in the distance. There are mud huts decorated with white chalk and roofed with thatch, farmers who will deliver you fresh milk in plastic water bottles, donkeys peering in your window. If you request chicken for lunch, a farmer will bring you a live chicken to kill. If you have leftovers from dinner, you store them in a cabinet overnight and boil them before eating them in the morning. Cooking is done with charcoal or kerosene, clothes are washed by hand, water is fetched at one of the faucets outside and carried to houses each morning.

But I haven't stepped back in time five hundred years-the village is modernizing rapidly. Many people have cellphones, which they charge for 300 shillings at a local store. I drank tea in a mud house that had solar-powered light bulbs. Most of the people in the village are Christian, in fact very religious Christians, and there's a Lutheran church and a Catholic mission in the village. There's a computer at the mission as well. No working computers at my school yet, but my headmaster has one that he's trying to run off of solar power. And we do have science labs with equipment and a small library.

The end of training

2007-11-25T04:37:00.000-08:00

Training is rapidly coming in an end. What does this mean? Well, mostly that things are hectic. It doesn't help that my host family is currently cooking 1,220 samosas three times a week for the local teachers college, so things are as hectic and stressful at home as they are elsewhere. When I came home two nights ago Mama Gill and Mama Bi were sitting in the hallway folding samosas. Last night the whole family was hectically preparing food for a wedding. And this morning, Rehema and Mama Mkubwa were peeling more onions that I've ever seen in one place outside of a grocery store.

(The family cooks for a living, and anyone who has the time and ability helps)

On my own end, I'm trying to:
-write and memorize a Kiswahili speech for swearing in. Well, I don't think I have to memorize it, but I hope to know it well enough that I can look the audience in the eye instead of staring at the paper
-finish up buying gifts for my host family (today's errand)
-buy random supplies for my site. I have no electricity, so my greatest concern is a solar charger for my cell phone. A friend gave me one that doesn't seem to work, and I bought a wind-up charger in town today. So it looks like I'll be sitting there winding-up my cell phone for three hours or so every time I want to us it. Actually, I'm kind of kidding, but I have the feeling you have to wind it for a while to get a decent amount of charge. If it turns out that I have cell phone service at my site, and that I use my cell phone a lot, I may try to get a solar charger in the nearest town
-practice playing the harmonica for a song we're performing at swearing-in. I have to accompany a guitar, and I've never done this before so I'm never sure when to start playing. I may pull out of this one if I don't have enough time to practice before swearing-in
-start packing. We leave Morogoro on Thursday. What with the books, first aid kit, and random supplies the Peace Corps has given me, my possessions have nearly doubled since I reached Tanzania. I'm not quite sure how I'm going to cart 13 chemistry books, 4 biology books, a book on permaculture, a book on teaching, 4 Kiswahili books, and all the books I originally brought here to my site. The Peace Corps will be taking us there (which simplifies things), but it will still be a challenge to fit everything in my bags without making the bags too heavy to carry.

And of course . . .
-spend some time with my friends from training before we all separate. You get close to people when you spend two months with them in a time of stress, especially when you study a new language together, laugh about your most recent embarassing story together, and complain about the problems of adjusting together. I have a lot of friends who will be on the opposite side of the country. We'll be sending text messages and letters, but we won't see each other until the next peace corps training session several months from now. When I have a break from all the other things I should be doing (or when I simply decide those things aren't as important), I want to enjoy my time with them while I can.

Site announcements

2007-11-25T04:33:00.000-08:00

My site:
I will be teaching at a secondary school in Arusha region, near Ngorongoro crater. I won't have many details until I get there. What I do know is:
-my village has running water but no electricity
-the villagers are from the Iraqw tribe and speak Kiiraqw as well as Kiswahili
-I'll most likely be teaching biology and chemistry
-my village is very rural, but is not far from a tourist town. So I'll have internet access, but will probably be posting in this blog every 2 weeks at most

Off to Iringa

2007-11-13T04:29:00.000-08:00

We're rapidly approaching the end of training. Yesterday, we had a swahili test involving simulations in which we had to pretend to be at the police station, market, school, and bus station (they even gave us a little money to buy fruit at the simulation market, and brought in actual sellers for the market, actual police for the police simulation, and so on). Today we had our written Swahili test, and tomorrow I have my oral test. Then, on Thursday, we leave for our shadow visits. We'll be visiting other Peace Corps volunteers in groups of 2 or 3.

I'll be traveling to rural Iringa with Ross, to visit an environmental volunteer. We'll be an hour away from the nearest city, Njombe, in a village of 1500 people with no electricity. From what I've been told, Iringa is mountainous and chilly. I'm excited. We'll be heading there via a 5 hour bus ride. We'll be taking a commercial bus which will also have Tanzanian passengers, but which will include maybe 8 Peace Corps trainees as several of us are going to Njombe area.

The shadow visits are about 4 days long, then we'll be going to Dar es Salaam for some Peace Corps lectures and a thanksgiving dinner at the country director's house. Also in Dar, we'll be finding out where we'll be teaching for the next two years. By this time next week, I'll know the name of my school, where it's located, what subject I'll be teaching, and what peace corps volunteers will be in my area. I'm trying not to think about it too much right now--it's a lot of information to wait for, and at the moment I'm just excited to leave Morogoro for a few days and see more of the country.

Just another day in Tanzania

2007-11-07T04:54:00.000-08:00

To give you an idea of what my life is like here, here's a sample of some of the things that happened yesterday. Note that this is not necessarily a typical day (in fact I don't think I have a typical day). But it should give you an idea of a day in the life of a Peace Corps Tanzania trainee.

We're done with our internship teaching, so I slept in until 6:40 am. That's right, slept in. I awoke to the third day in a row of no water coming out of the tap. This wasn't a problem yesterday, as yesterday I still had a full bucket of water stored in my bathroom. Today I'm down to about a quarter bucket, my family's water tank is empty, and we need to fetch water from the well a few minutes' walk away. I've been told the well water is safe to drink but tastes salty (I'll probably find out when I go home a few hours from now). As my family says, water is shida kubwa, a big problem. We really need some rain.

I've had a cold for the past few days, so I was delighted to walk into the dining room and see that my breakfast was two pieces of keki (cake) and a cup of chai. Not greasy eggs, not greasy chapati, not the Tanzanian version of French toast, not even my beloved uji. Cake cooked in an improvised charcoal oven. It takes very small things to make me happy here.

I arrived at Kiswahili class at 8 am. At 10 am, as chai break began, I raced to the local duka (store) to try to buy some tissues. I had no luck asking for 'paper for blowing your nose' in Kiswahili, so I bought a roll of toilet paper. And then felt foolish carrying it back along a shortcut that passed through several people's yards. Usually the storeowner wraps it in newspaper; today I think he was out. Not a big problem, though—the more time I spend in Tanzania, the less easily I'm embarassed.

Bryan played his guitar during chai, and again after lunch. We tried to accompany each other, Bryan on the guitar and me on the harmonica. Unfortunately our repertoire is currently limited to 'Hey Mr. Tambourine Man', 'Free Falling', and 'Blowin' in the Wind'. Plus I have no experience accompanying someone, so I'm never quite sure when to play the first note. But it was fun, and there were some moments when the music sounded really good.

Kiswahili class ended early, actually two hours before lunch, and we had self-study time. Which translates to some self-study and some goofing off and laughing at each other. Maybe we're all under a lot of stress, or maybe we just spend too much time together. Whatever the reason, the five of us in my Swahili class laugh at each other very easily.

After lunch Bryan, Laura, and Ross went to town, Beverly stayed to study, and I sat on the steps of the house where we learn Swahili and picked out songs on my harmonica. I went home around 4 and took my afternoon bucket bath. Then I sat in the living room to write a letter. There were some guests in the house, who I don't think I've met before, but they were deep in conversation when I entered and I never did introduce myself. Some days I feel like going through the five minute Swahili conversation that begins 'How do you know Swahili?', passes through the standard questions of 'Where are you from?' and 'What are you doing here in Tanzania?', and ends in awkward silence. Yesterday was not one of those days.

Kind of puttered around until 6:30, then went to do one of my favorite activities: sitting in the kitchen while my mamas cooked. It always makes for good conversation, either as I listen to them talk to each other or as I try to participate in the conversation. I ended up telling Tumaini that we were learning the Tanzanian national anthem for graduation, and then had to sing it. And since I had only sung it a few times, I forgot many lines. After that I sang her the American anthem, paused before the line 'o'er the ramparts . . .', thought for minute, and skipped to the next line. Tumaini laughed at me (I would have laughed at myself too). We then practiced singing the Tanzanian anthem together. Two of my other mamas joined in. As it turned out, one of them had forgotten much of the Tanzania anthem. So basically we all laughed at each other, and I didn't feel so bad about forgetting a line of the American anthem.

At dinner I made my language mistake of the day, accidentally telling my family that poor Mexicans eat meat while rich ones eat rice and beans. It took me a minute to figure out why they were so confused. Fortunately my family loves to laugh, and I don't mind giving them something to laugh at. After dinner I spent a little while watching TV, but, given the option between a Tanzanian political talk show and journal writing followed by sleep, decided for journal writing and sleep. I lay down on my bed under my mosquito net for about an hour, writing in my journal. Then I turned out the light at around 10:30, exhausted as usual, and promptly fell asleep.

Rainbow over the savannah

2007-10-31T06:15:00.000-07:00

Mikumi

2007-10-31T06:04:00.000-07:00

Now I really feel like I've been in Africa. Or at least the Africa of legend and popular culture.

We went to Mikumi National Park this weekend to see animals and take a break from training. And we had success on both accounts. We saw elephants, giraffes, hippos, crocodiles, impala, buffalo, and probably a few I'm forgetting. We also saw a pair of lions (a male and a female) and a beautiful double rainbow. All in a landscape that looked remarkably like eastern Oregon. There were several moments where I glanced out the window of the bus, saw the scattered trees and grassy plains and distant mountains, and had an overwhelming feeling of being somewhere near Bend.

It was also nice to finally spend a lot of time with the trainees who aren't in my Swahili class, who I usually only see once a week. When we're all together, it's hard to remember that, a mere few weeks from now, we'll be scattered throughout the country and only see each other once or twice a week. Especially since, in the month and a half we've been here, I've become as close to the trainees who share my Swahili class as I am to people I knew for years at home.

Mama Rhoda making samosas

2007-10-25T07:21:00.000-07:00

Morogoro

2007-10-25T07:06:00.000-07:00

Just coasting

2007-10-25T06:44:00.000-07:00

This week I've felt good. Good about my Swahili, good about my training group, good about my ability to exist comfortably in Morogoro. Of course, I also had my first bout with the African version of Montezuma's revenge, nearly flooded my room by forgetting I had left the tap open while the water wasn't working, and miserably failed to invigilate a test in which there was clear and rampant cheating. Things here move from up to down to back up very quickly. Some highlights:
-we're off to Mikumi national park this weekend, for a quick two day vacation. This means that, just maybe, you'll be getting some pictures of elephants and hippos. The lions of Mikumi are said to be elusive, so I'm not getting my hopes up there. As well as seeing the animals, I'm looking forward to finally spending some time with the PCTs who aren't in my Swahili class.
-didn't teach this week, as our school was giving the monthly tests all week. Instead we practiced proctoring (invigilating). On the first test I invigilated, I was left by myself in a room of 53 students taking a Kiswahili test, and told to collect tests and make sure no one cheated. I spent a lot of time walking around trying to look threatening. On the second test I invigilated, there was another teacher in the room, but he spent a lot of time outside and there was definitely cheating. It's a really a challenge to prevent cheating here, as many students share desks, and you can't watch everyone at once in a room of 53 students.
-had our midterm tests last week. So far so good on the Kiswahili front--as long as my Kiswahili doesn't slip downhill I'll be passing the language training without a problem. That said, this makes it very easy to be lazy, and I have been lazy about speaking Kiswahili this week. I'd really like to move up a level on the final oral test, so I need to keep pushing past that frustration of not being able to say communicate more complex ideas in Swahili, and just keep trying
-saw monkeys for only the second time yesterday. You know, most of the time in Morogoro, I forget I'm in Africa. It doesn't feel like America, but nor does it feel like the popular image of Africa. Every now and then, though, something happens to remind me. The monkeys were one of those moments

Combustion!

2007-10-19T06:04:00.000-07:00

It says a lot that my most valuable possession this week was an empty glass jar.

This week I taught four eighty minute classes on combustion. My lecture went something like this:
-have students brainstorm how they use fire in their lives
-lecture about combustion
-demonstration: light a candle, cover it with a jar, and have students watch as the candle uses up all the oxygen in the jar and then goes out
-ask students some questions to test their understanding of combustion (example: is boiling water combustion? Why does lit charcoal glow when you blow on it?)

The demonstration was by far the best part. I had to split my fifty person class into groups of twenty-five, which were still far too big. But even so, the students were leaning forward to stare at the lit candle. I could hear an audible "aaaah" in the room as the candle went out. It was fun.

Some challenge I can see after a week of teaching:
-it takes a long time to get students to raise their hands. You have to stand in front of the classroom, look them in the eye, and wait. I hate making people uncomfortable and didn't do a very good job of this in the first class. But I think I'm getting better.
-Some students speak English well and look bored. Some barely speak English at all and have no idea what is going on.
-I went around the class trying to help students and see how much they understood. A few simply would not answer me, even when I asked a yes or no question. I have the feeling their English was not very good, and they were embarassed to talk.

Also it's fun to make students laugh. Simply say "ugali" and "mchicha", and they start laughing at the fact that a white person knows Swahili words for dinner food.

Next week's lesson: rust. I'll do my best to keep you posted.

Idi njema

2007-10-13T06:52:00.000-07:00

Today is Idi or Eid al-Fitr, the day celebrating the end of Ramadan. For us overworked PCTs, that means a vacation of sorts. Instead of hearing lectures and receiving shots from 8-5 on Saturday, we get the day off.
This morning, I slept in for once. I awoke as usual at 6 AM to the crowing of the roosters and the sound of pots being filled with water, but lay back down and slept again till 7 am. It was almost 7:45 by the time I showered, dressed, and left my room, and I felt lazy. Already, Mama Gill, Mama Bi, and Mama Mkubwa were cooking, Tumaini was mopping the kitchen, and Manu and Landry (a friend of my host brother George, or possibly another kaka) were washing clothes.

Before breakfast I learned how to cook in Tanzania. First, I lit a charcoal stove for the first time. It’s a fairly easy process: you fill the stove with charcoal, pile some twigs on top, pour in some kerosene (mafuta ya taa), and drop in a lit match. Then you put a hollow piece of metal tubing on top of the charcoal, which somehow aids airflow and helps the stove light faster.

Next I learned how to cook uji, the delicious porridge of unga wa ulezi (finger millet flour) that I eat each morning. I’m not being sarcastic, I truly love uji. I’ll be searching out finger millet flour when I get home. Anyway, to make uji, you first mix some flour with water to make a slurry; make sure there are no lumps. You dump the slurry into boiling water. You stir. You keep stirring. You stir for maybe forty minutes. You add some sugar and maybe some margarine, and you eat it.

I also saw the chai making process, though I haven’t yet done it myself. The steps are:

1) Put fresh cut ginger in boiling water.
2) On a separate stove, heat whole milk.
3) Combine warm milk with ginger and boiling water.
4) Add tea leaves. Let cook until tea is strong enough for your taste.

After breakfast I had a brief lesson in ironing. Then I spent an hour planning my lesson. This week I’m teaching four 80-minute periods—one double period for each Form 1 chemistry class at my school. This means I’ll be teaching the same topic four times. My topic: combustion. It’s going to be a challenge to fill eighty minutes, because Form 1 is the equivalent of eighth grade and doesn’t yet know what a chemical reaction is. On the good side, I get to burn things. Lots of things. And assuming I can find the school kitchen, I can take the kids on a field trip there to see combustion in action on the charcoal stoves.
I sat in the outdoor kitchen for about two hours late in the morning, watching the process of cooking pilau, ndizi (unripe bananas that taste like potatoes), and sambusa (samosas). Pilau is a delicious dish of baked, spiced rice served with beef, chicken, or goat meat. After watching the process, I think the reason it’s so delicious may have something to do with the fact that the rice is basically cooked in hot oil.

After lunch I went to town to meet fellow PCT Aron. We were hunting for chemistry supplies, as our schools have none. So I now have tongs and a glass, as well as the candles and matches I bought earlier. This means I’ll be able to do two demonstrations on Monday: hold paper or dry leaves between the tongs and burn them, and cover a lit candle with an upside-down glass to demonstrate that the candle uses up all the oxygen and then goes out.

I’ve got another half hour at this Internet café, then I’ll be boarding a daladala and heading back home. Fellow PCT Laura’s host mom has invited the four of us who live in the neighborhood to her house for dinner. Plus there’s the new batch of Kiswahili flashcards I made last night to study, and more lesson planning to do. It’s been a busy day, but it’s been a good day. Idi njema to all. I’ll be thinking of you and of the crisp, cool fall air I’m missing as we head into summer here.

You know you're in Peace Corps Tanzania when . . .

2007-10-13T06:49:00.000-07:00

(written October 9, 2007)

We’re approaching the mid-point of training, and it’s
starting to feel like I’ve been here a long time.
I’ve gained the ability to sleep through the roosters
crowing, to the point where I’m now worried about
waking up on time.  I have my morning routine more or
less down: brush teeth with boiled water, take a hot
bucket bath, eat a breakfast of chai thick with milk
and ginger, uji (a porridge of finger millet or corn
flour), and/or chapati, omelet, or the Tanzanian
version of French toast, in which the bread is first
toasted, then dipped in egg and cooked.  I think if I
have the ability to gain weight, I will probably do it
here.

One of my fellow trainees made a list called “You
know you’re in Peace Corps Tanzania when . . .”  It
includes:
-when you know the names of all the characters in the
dubbed Filipino soap operas "The Long Wait" and "It Might be You"—and you care what happens
to them
-when you add “i” to the end of every word (ex: juice
is “juisi”, a pencil is “pensili”.  And you say things like "Nitawin" to mean "I will win"
-when you know what PCTCCTPLWHA means (the Peace
Corps loves acronyms)
-when you think 10 people on a minibus is wasted
space

--
Some things I’ve learned how to do:

-grate coconut.  There’s a special apparatus for
grating called an mbuzi, which consists of a folding
stool with a saw-like blade attached to one end

-wash clothes by hand.  I’m not a fan of the part
where you use your wrist as a washboard . . . I think
I peel off as much of my skin as I remove stains from
the cloth.

-fold samosas (called sambusa here)

-light a kerosene lamp

We start our student teaching next week.  My topics:
combustion, rust, and fire extinguishers.  I’m a
little worried about the fire extinguisher part, given
that I don’t remember the four types of fire
extinguishers and they don’t seem to be in the
chemistry books the Peace Corps gave me.  I’m less
worried about teaching a class of 53 students.  From
what I’ve seen, the students here are incredibly
well-behaved.  In the one class I watched, the
students stood to answer questions, mostly took notes
quietly, and seemed to already know the syllabus by
heart.  Whether they understood the material is
another question, and it’s a question I can’t yet
answer.

There are several challenges to teaching chemistry in
Tanzania.  First, classes are in English, which is not
the students’ first language and which the Form I
students are only starting to learn well.  Second,
chemistry here is often theoretical: my internship
school has no chemistry equipment, and demonstrations
and labs are rare.  Finally, students must buy their
own books, and only one student in a class of 53
people had a book.  This means it’s crucial to write
neatly on the board, as students copy everything the
teacher writes and use their own notes as a book.  And
if you write something wrong on the board, you’ll
probably find that nearly every student will put that
same, wrong answer on the next test.

Last week we started microteaching, in which we
practice our lesson plans on fellow PCTs.  So far, the
hardest part for me has been remembering how few
resources there are.  You can’t assign homework that
requires a book, because few students have a book.  If
you’re unsure of the material, you can’t just go look
it up online: you have to go to an internet café in
town and use the very slow internet connection.  And
while there are printers and photocopiers, they’re few
and far between.  It’s going to be a challenge.  But
at least the students I’ve met so far are
enthusiastic, and I think they’ll be fun to teach.

It's just life

2007-10-13T06:35:00.000-07:00

(This entry was written on October 4, 2007)

“It’s just life.”
This was the best advice the Peace Corps trainers gave
us before sending us to live with our host family.
Occasionally it’s an adventure here, occasionally it
feels very foreign, but most of the time, it’s just
life.
--
I’m currently living in Morogoro, a three hour drive
to the west of Dar es Salaam.  It’s a city of about
500,000 people, bordered on three sides by the
absolutely beautiful Uluguru mountains, a range of
rugged green hills that look like the Appalachians
might look if they were given steroids, placed in
Africa, and planted with banana trees.  I’m living
with a family in a residential neighborhood that feels
rural.  In the morning I wake up to roosters crowing
and the two family milk cows mooing.  I walk down a
rutted, cracked red dirt road to the room where my
Swahili lessons are held, passing grazing goats on the
way.  My family has television, a DVD player, and cell
phones, but they cook their meals over charcoal stoves
and wash their clothes by hand.

The family house itself is fairly nice.  It’s actually
a compound surrounded by a fence, with a house, a
chicken coop, several sheds, an sort of pavilion for
cooking, and several fruit trees inside.  For
Tanzania, I think it’s upper middle class.  We have
electricity, which is reliable, and running water,
which is not reliable.  There’s also a fridge, a
blender, and a large tank for storing water.

Now we come to the question of how many people live in
the house.  Actually, I’m not sure.  There are four
mamas: the head of the family (Mama Rhoda), her older
sister (Neema), a friend of Mama Rhoda’s (Giselle),
and I believe one of Mama Rhoda’s older nieces
(Tumaini).  Then there’s the grandmother, Bibi, and a
constantly changing population of younger people.
More or less permanent are Manu, Mama Rhoda’s
twenty-five year old daughter, Shangwe, Neema's
sixteen year-old daughter who attends secondary school
in Morogoro, Silvanus, the houseboy, and George, a son
of a deceased friend of Mama Rhoda’s who studies IT at
Mzumbe university.  Occasionally I see Uli, son of
another deceased friend, Parminda, Mama Rhoda’s
9-year-old daughter who goes to a boarding school in
Dar es Salaam, and Sono, Mama Rhoda’s son and an IT
student in another city.  It’s a large and extended
family, and there are always visitors coming in and
out.  I love it.  At all times of day, there’s
something going on and someone to talk to.

I apologize in advance for the lack of blog entries in
the next eight weeks, but the Peace Corps keeps us
busy.  On weekdays, I climb out of bed at 6:15, take a
hot bucket bath, pack my books for the days, and sit
down to an inevitably large breakfast of uji (porridge
of millet and corn flour), tea brewed in whole milk,
and either eggs or samosas filled with spiced beef.
From 7:30 to 8, I stand awkwardly in the courtyard of
Lupanga secondary school, watching kids sweep and cut
grass with sickles, and occasionally trying to talk to
them.  Then I walk with the four other people in my
training group to the house of our Swahili teacher.
We learn Swahili until 10 am, then take a tea break
from 10-10:30.  After that more Swahili and lunch,
followed by observation of a Tanzanian class, classes
on how to teach in Tanzania, or a “language
walk-around” where we walk around Morogoro and
practice Swahili.

Saturdays are CCT day—all 40 Peace Corps trainees meet
at a compound known as the Christian Council of
Tanzania for vaccines and lectures on medical issues,
IT in Tanzania, and AIDS.  And of course simply to
catch up.  Since we were divided into eight training
groups at the beginning of training, we don’t see each
other very often any more.  My group does meet with
two other training groups twice a week for classes on
teaching, but I have some good friends from staging
that I only see on Saturdays.  Last Saturday was our
first day together after a week with our host
families, and we all lingered at CCT as long as
possible, walking home only when it began to grow
dark.

And now we come to the only free day.  Sunday.  Ah,
Sunday.  Last Sunday I went to church (Catholic with a
Swahili service), washed laundry, bought a cell phone,
and taught my host sister to play Frisbee.  This
Sunday, if I’m lucky, I may make it back to this
Internet café, wash clothes by hand, finally write
some letters, study my Swahili flashcards, catch up on
my journal, catch up on my sleep, play Scrabble with
Shangwe, Giselle, and fellow trainee Laura, and spend
some quality time with my host family.   Ah,
ninatumaini, I hope so.  But I’d be happy just for the
sleep.

Vipi? Poa!

2007-09-20T05:15:00.000-07:00

A word of warning before I continue:
I am responsible for the comments you post on this blog. That's right, your words are my responsibility. So please be careful. It's very possible my Tanzanian counterparts will read this blog, and what we see as a funny or sarcastic comment could easily be offensive to them.

Please feel free to post your comments. Just be sensitive and polite--as if you were sitting and speaking to your new Tanzanian friend (something I'll be doing a lot of soon).
--
I'm at the Peace Corps headquarters in Dar es Salaam. It's been an interesting day. Last night I walked into my room in the hostel in Dar es Salaam with a sudden, overwhelming sense of loneliness. I don't think the enormity of the cultural adjustments I'll have to make had struck me until then. Philadelphia was fun, and felt like home. The Amsterdam airport was exciting because it was new, but it was still very comfortable and familiar. Receiving change in Euros, and getting tea in a china cup instead of a paper cup, aren't exactly large changes.

Then we landed in Dar es Salaam. And as soon as we stepped off the airplane, it felt different. The material surroundings were still familiar; the airport didn't look much different than an American airport. But there was something in the atmosphere, in the way the airport employees stood, in the way they looked at or didn't look at us, which felt different. I had a sudden sense of being in an unknown, alien culture. Of not knowing what is polite to do and what is rude, when greetings are expected and when they aren't, or even what body language means someone is annoyed with you.

As soon as I closed the door to my room at the hostel, I was overwhelmed by a sense of being alone. I should make it clear that I'm not alone at all: the Peace Corps has taken amazing care of us so far, and there are 39 people sharing the same fears and experiences as I am. But I felt suddenly, utterly, alone. Maybe it was the mosquito netting on the bed, the sheets that were rougher than those at home, the way the toilet and shower share the same room without a separation between them. Maybe it was the fact that it was so much simpler than a hotel room at home: I had everything I needed, but it was very simple, very basic. It didn't help that the electricity flickered off for two minutes while my belongings were spread all over the floor.

I did sleep well (it helped that I didn't sleep on the plane). In the morning I walked alone through a girls' school to the cafeteria--a short walk, but again, overwhelming in that I didn't know how to interact with the people I passed. Breakfast was tasty: fried plantains, bread, jam, tea, a juice made of passionfruit and avocado (absolutely delicious). We took a bus to the Peace Corps compound. I say compound because it's not just a single office. It's a group of buildings surrounded by a fence in one of the nicer areas of Dar es Salaam, and the areas between the buildings are full of banana trees, palms, and tropical plants I can't yet name.

The first hour or so here was overwhelming. They told us about training, about their high expectations of us and what we'd be doing for the next ten weeks. At times it seemed like too much adjustment and learning to expect of one jet-lagged person. But that was only the first hour. The more time I've spent at the Peace Corps compound, the better I've felt. Everyone is clearly very experienced and friendly and eager to help us, and the staff are excited even when we speak to them with the little Swahili we've learned so far. I don't think the next few weeks will be easy. But I'm feeling much better about them now. I even have a plan to greet the girls at the school next time I walked to the cafeteria, with the local equivalent of "what's up?":
Vipo?
Poa!

And we're off

2007-09-18T04:49:00.000-07:00

I'm at a computer at a coffee shop in the historic district of Philadelphia. We've just finished a day and a half of staging--the Peace Corps equivalent of orientation that feels like a cross between a true orientation to the policies of the Peace Corps and a pep rally to increase our excitement about going to Tanzania. Actually, it feels a lot like a college orientation week. Put together a group of forty mostly young, energetic people, add lack of sleep and the excitement of going to Africa, and see what you get.
A few statistics:
-there are 40 people in my group. About 30 are right out of college. We also have some people who left mid-career for the Peace Corps, an older couple, and a few single people
-the entire yearly Peace Corps budget equals half a day in Iraq.

Today we're off to the airport. Tomorrow night at 10 pm, we'll be in Tanzania

Packing list

2007-09-15T20:15:00.000-07:00

It's late and I should be in bed; I've probably forgot to write down a few things. But this should give you a decent idea of what I've packed.
--
Luggage
Large REI hiking backpack (38 pounds)
Small duffel bag (20 pounds)
Small backpack for carry-on (8 pounds)

Clothing
3 skirts
2 polo shirts
1 short-sleeved button down shirt
1 long-sleeved button down shirt
3 t-shirts
1 pair jeans
1 pair fleece pants
1 pair light cotton pants (for biking and sleeping in)
1 dress
2 slips
8 bras
20 pairs of underwear
8 pairs nice socks, 4 pairs thicker socks
1 baseball cap
1 wide-brimmed hat
1 warm hat
1 fleece jacket
1 raincoat
1 pair long underwear tops
1 pair gloves

Shoes
1 pair Tevas
1 pair formal shoes
1 pair light hiking boots (basically sturdy walking shoes)
1 spare shoelace
1 container mink oil for conditioning leather on hiking boots

Tools
Needle and thread
swiss army knife
fake leatherman
hex
large folding knife
knife-sharpening rod
1 roll duct tape

So I can see . . .
1 pair spare glasses
1 pair sunglasses
small cloth for wiping glasses
glasses case
tiny screwdriver for glasses repair

Hygiene
toothpaste
floss
bugspray (2 small sticks)
small container shampoo
small bar of soap (plus a container to hold it)
hairbrush assuming I don't forget it in the morning
2 toothbrushes (because I'm good at destroying toothbrushes quickly)
pads
sunscreen (2 bottles)

Things for teaching
intro physics book
intro bio book
a binder of assorted biology diagrams and chemistry problem sets
chemistry lab goggles
calculator and 10 spare AAA batteries
2 periodic tables (always important)
maps of the world, the US, and Tanzania
assorted pens and pencils, plus a permanent marker
2 blank notebooks
a watch so I get to class on time

Entertainment
AM/FM/shortwave radio
books: 100 best-loved poems, a book of 5 shakespeare tragedies, the Phantom Tollbooth
harmonica
pack of cards
frisbee
journal (really just a notebook)
clipboard for writing in odd places

Host family gifts
2008 calendar with pictures of Massachusetts
necklace
Reed baseball cap
bag of dried cranberries
assorted toys for kids (erasers, bouncy balls, and so forth)

Other
2 water bottles (my metal water bottle and a blue Nalgene that used to say Reed on it)
photos of home, family, and friends
camera plus extra cards
headlamp
WFR manual
compass
whistle
waist belt for money
locks for luggage
flash drive
water filter and chlorine dioxide tablets and replacement activated carbon for filter
Teach Yourself Swahili (a book)
address book
rope
rechargeable AA batteries and solar charger
ziplock bags
first aid kit (the Peace Corps gives you one but I'm rather attached to my little red bag. Contents: SAM splint, 2 ace bandages, 2 sets of gloves, ibuprofen, tylenol, benadryl, band-aids, gauze, tape, moleskin, trauma shears, betadine, aloe gel for burns, tweezers, small waterproof WFR manual, a few things I'm forgetting )

Clerical stuff
assorted Peace Corps and personal paperwork

Kuuliza si ujinga

2007-09-09T11:54:00.000-07:00

OK, so "Peace Corps Tanzania" wasn't a very creative title. I've replaced it with a Swahili proverb: Kuuliza si ujinga. Literally, "to ask is not stupidity."

Some other proverbs I ran into while searching for a title:
-Penye nia, pana njia. (where there's a will there's a path. It rhymes!).
-Haraka haraka haina baraka (hurry hurry is not a blessing--haste makes waste)
-Mapenzi ni kikohozi, hayawezi kufichika (love is like a cough, it can't be hidden)
-Mgeni ni kuku mweupe (A stranger is a white chicken--literally a stranger stands out. When you think of me a little over a week from now, think of a white chicken standing out in a crowd).

Teaching clothes (a.k.a. Kristen wears skirts???)

2007-09-09T10:41:00.001-07:00

Here's a picture of me in the clothes I'll be wearing when I teach in Tanzania.

For the first time in my life, my wardrobe extends beyond jeans and t-shirts. I feel strangely grown-up.

Sample packing list

2007-09-08T20:04:00.000-07:00

For fellow Peace Corps Tanzania people:

There's a detailed packing list from a current Tanzania volunteer at:
http://lisaintanzaniapcv.blogspot.com/2005_08_01_archive.html (it's the August 8th entry).

She even added comments regarding what was useful to bring and what wasn't.

Luggage

2007-09-06T17:57:00.000-07:00

Well, after a long period of denial/laziness, I've finally started packing. I have two bags: an old backpacking backpack I bought used from the Reed College backpack co-op three years ago, and a small duffel bag I found buried in our hall closet. Now the Peace Corps recommendations for luggage are:

a) portable
b) lockable

As far as I can tell, they're mutually contradictory. Backpacking backpacks are the most portable luggage out there, but they close with plastic clips and a drawstring and can't be locked. Duffel bags can be locked, but they won't foil a determined thief, who could just slash them open with a knife. The most secure kind of luggage is a lockable trunk with a hard plastic case, which is too heavy to carry and awkward to drag over dirt roads, even if it does have wheels.

I've decided to choose portable on the theory that my things will have many opportunities to be stolen, most of which I can't control anyway. Plus I hate the headache of carrying around awkward luggage, and the unlockable backpack more than redeems itself in terms of portability--since it can stay on my back, I won't be temporarily putting it down and turning around to find it gone.

Thus, my current plan: lock the duffel bag as best I can, and bury my few valuables among my clothing. It doesn't feel secure but it's the best idea I can come up with. And it's probably good if I start developing a healthy sense of detachment from my possessions.

I'll post a full list of what I've packed some time in the next few days.

Off to the distant land of . . . Philadelphia

2007-08-31T13:07:00.000-07:00

A little over two weeks before I leave for staging, and at last my flight plans have fallen into place. As it turns out, we're flying to Tanzania from JFK in New York, but staging itself is in Philadelphia. My itinerary for mid-September:

September 16th. Get up at 5 am. Catch 7:30 am flight. Arrive in Philadelphia by 9 am. Register at hotel, eat lunch. Begin staging at 1:30 pm.

September 17th. Staging. (Think lectures, paperwork, and shots)

September 18th. Take a bus to JFK airport. Get on a plane to Amsterdam.

September 19th. Catch a plane to Dar es Salaam in Amsterdam. Arrive in Dar es Salaam.

It will be my first time in Europe, albeit just at an airport, and also my first time in Africa. I'll have about 17 hours of plane flights and 12 hours of lectures on Peace Corps policy. Plus, I'll be meeting the people I'll be in Tanzania with for two years, and finally becoming an official Peace Corps trainee after months of paperwork and preparation. It should be a frantic, busy, exciting few days.

Packing

2007-08-18T18:03:00.000-07:00

What would you pack if you were going to Africa for two years?

I've started a packing list. It's already too long, but it also feels like it's missing things. Any suggestions?

In other news, I'm currently awaiting information from the Peace Corps on travel arrangements. Staging (basically two days of vaccines and paperwork in the U.S.) is scheduled to start less than a month from now; I'm scheduled to be on a plane to Tanzania in exactly a month. So the travel arrangements should be coming in the next two weeks. I'm excited to find out the answer to the long-standing mystery of where, exactly, staging is taking place--all I know is that it's a city with a large airport, as we're flying to Tanzania from there.

Home

2007-07-23T18:20:00.000-07:00

I leave Portland on Friday. Maybe not for good, but at least for a long time. If I serve my full Peace Corps term, I won't be back until early 2010.

I've been telling people that I'm leaving Portland to go home. But I feel more like I'm leaving a home. Framingham is where I grew up, but it's not really home anymore--it's more of a neutral place that's always there to fall back on if I need it, a place where I know I'm welcome but where I feel more like I'm on vacation or resting than truly living. Portland is where I've learned to live.

When I came out here I didn't know how to ride a city bus. I was afraid of biking on the busier roads and had to stop and look at a map when I biked downtown. I understood the grid system but could never remember the cross streets. I fumbled with my change when I boarded the bus, and was terrified of riding at night for fear of missing the Reed stop. Exploring Portland was an adventure, but it was one that I loved. Even before I knew the city, it felt like home.

Now I zoom along bike lanes fearlessly and move out into the car lane for left turns. I take a map, occasionally, but I almost never look at it. I know three direct ways back to Reed by bus, and several indirect ones. I've started to participate in the city: I vote in city elections, volunteer at a local non-profit, and buy the local street newspaper for a dollar when I go downtown. I know a few Portlanders outside of Reed, thanks to volunteering, friends of friends, and the local Peace Corps association. I feel like I'm starting to belong.

And now it's time to go.

I'm leaving to move on to something I've always wanted to do, but it's still hard. I'm leaving behind a group of friends who have seen me through some of the most stressful times of my life, and who have been there for me even when I was at my worst. I'm also leaving places I've left a mark on: the Reed canyon where I can point out trees that I planted, and a biochemistry lab where other people are continuing my research. Really, I'm leaving a piece of myself behind.

Someday I hope to come back for it.