Part Five: My last full day with my host family in the village of Lusanga A or an Au Revoir party for “Mwaza”

Part Five: My last full day with my host family in thevillage of Lusanga A or an Au Revoir party for “Mwaza”

8 December 2012

Ninaitwa MwazaTanzania, lakini jina langu ni Wendy Marekani. I’m called Mwaza in Tanzaniabut my name is Wendy in America.

My family gave me a good-bye party on my last day in ourvillage. I woke up early today to pack, as the Peace Corps vehicle will becoming over to collect our baggage, as we 39 Peace Corps trainees will allleave our host families and head back to Dar es Saalam tomorrow for final trainingwrap up and Swearing-In preparation at now, the United States Embassy insteadof the residence.

While my father sets up a stereo and two loudspeakers andconnected the system placed in front of our house with a very long electricalcord strung across a neighbor’s house with electricity, the children and I satunder a tree. As I see Alima’s smile, Nyuki and Ismali dancing together andother familiar faces playing with each other, I began to feel emotional andtears rolled down my eyes. Oh Jesus, Iwill miss them very much! This was my home and my life. I quicklyput on my sunglasses to cover my face but I knew that I couldn’t fool anyone. Itwas obvious. Kids are not dumb. That morning, my little brother Salimu held myhand as he took me around to neighbors’ houses for visits and chats. TheTanzanians are hospitable and are always welcoming. I was able to check outsome other Tanzanian village household and saw how they lived. Tough, verytough...to say the least. The majority of houses have dirt floors and cookinside the house with burning wood. It’s primitive and rustic. Living conditionand sanitation are nonexistent but the people continue to be happy and smileaway without any care in the world. Thisis how people should live on a daily basis: happily with family and community.Their lacks in material items or long hard manual labor have no bearing ontheir emotional happiness.

We go visit this one house where lives little Usna whosename finally I am able to remember. She is one of my favorite little 5 yearsold girl, the one with pretty tattered dresses and funky hairstyle. She offersme a gift, a kitty. Wow…I never plan to have a pet in Tanzania as I no longerwant to be burden by an animal. I already will have a tough time cooking formyself let alone having to figure out sustenance for the baby animal. However,I wasn’t totally opposed to the idea as a cat will be able to chase and killrats which they will become useful and even ideal living in situation whereunwanted guests visit the house. I will think about it whether I will acceptthe kitty or not. Logistically, I would have to care for it for several days inDar es Saalam in which I would be able to find a veterinarian for vaccinationsbut the long trek from Dar to Njombe will be a long drag. Along with my alreadyheavy baggage, now I’ll have to carry a kitty cat. Don’t know if it’s a goodidea. If I was to advice someone, I would suggest not doing it. One can alwaysfind a kitty later in their village.

That day, I played with the two kitties, a baby chick and mysmall village friends. While baba sets up the music, we danced…the children andI. At around later afternoon, I finally took my first and possibly last bucket bathin the family’s house to dress for my party and later that evening, to attend abig hoopla of a wedding reception at our village.

I am dressed in my brand new African outfit and ready for mybon voyage party. I see that Tanzanian teens have built a makeshift backgroundstaging area using heavy tree branches. My mama took the curtains in my room todrape the built stand which will serve as a back drop to the couch and coffeetable in which they have set outside under the big fenesi tree (jack fruit) where I sometimes sit with the children.Wow, I’m touched and impressed with the thought, idea, and execution of allthis just for little ol’ me. The villagers, children and I dance to Tanzanianmusic. There is a microphone in which I hear my baba, his friend, and my littlebrother making announcements. Later, two Peace Corps language culturalfacilitator, one of them is my teacher, comes walking down toward my house.Mama has invited them to my party. They and I sit on the living room set underthe tree while eating the lunch that mama has made for us: Chicken, rice,beans, and stewed bananas. After eating, my Swahili teacher gave a speech… blahblah blah, she is sharing with the villagers that I have often and alwaysexpressed to her my love and fondness for the village children. After theyleft, soon my CBT classmate, Jane, came with her sister to my party. Moreannouncements and speeches followed. Now it’s the gift giving time. I’m askedto go to the “stage” and I see some people lining up in front of me with goodsin their hands. Mama gives me her gifts of a straw mat and a straw fan. I am sohappy and we hugged. Bibi gives me two sets of tea cup sets, sister in lawgives me two glasses, and another relative gives me bowl and food cover made instraw and Alima came to give me another teacup set. After all the asante sana, thank you very much, andhugs, baba comes and makes his appearance. My father gave me a kanga set, whichI absolutely love since it is red and yellow with pineapple designs. I am trulytouched and impressed with the amount of gifts I have received not only from myfamily but a handful of individuals. I’m asked to go to the front of the housewhere the microphone is and I dance wearing my new kanga. I take the microphoneand thank everybody. I’m now compelled to talk. My throat began to feel tightand my eyes are watering as emotion filled me. I am standing in front of myhouse looking at my village and friends and family. I see my favorite childrenand how do I calmly and objectively voice and express in a foreign language mygratitude and love for these people whom I have connected and bonded for thepast two and a half months? They have warmly and lovingly welcomed me in theircommunity. To give myself credit, I have always integrated with them from dayone. I’m not one of those Americans who only hang out with other Americansspeaking English and ignore the host nationals. I started to speak and my voicewavered and eyes becoming moist. I tried to compose myself but I’m doing ashitty job. I hear my mama “helping me out” by explaining to all that I am sadand will miss everyone thus the reason why I’m crying. I continued speaking inSwahili and right in the middle, damn it…I started to spew some English which Iknew nobody will understand but I’m certain they must know the jist of what I’mtrying to convey. Universally, we all can relate to emotions and the newfoundconnection that people develop and foster with each other. Separation isemotional and I hope they can feel my heartfelt sincerity. After that littledramatic scene, I thank everyone again and with the kanga tightly wrappedaround my waist, I began to boogy to the Tanzanian music with the watoto to lighten up the ambience. Theparty lasted around till early evening until it was time to attend the bigwedding.

I have been told that the villagers love me. They are happythat I have spent much time with their children, interacting with them, playingwith them, and eventually loving them. They call me dada, sister, although by age, I could totally be their grannygiven how villagers give birth by the time they reach puberty.

After the party, I chatted with Charles, a Tanzanian whospoke English. I thought I take advantage and inquire with him about Alima. Howmany siblings does Alima have exactly? It’s terribly difficult keeping track ofeveryone’s relationship in a village. To my surprise, this is what I found out:Alima has only one brother, Nyuki. The other children whom she lives with areher cousins and not her siblings as she is claiming. The story goes like this.Bibi, my paternal grandmother, has had 5 different relationships thus producing5 children to each of these 5 different men. She has three sons and twodaughters. Each of these children have children making them her grandchildrenin which some lives with her. Another twist was finding out that my sister,Mwatumu is not my baba’s real daughter. Between my mama and baba, they onlyhave two sons together, Idirissa and Salimu. They both had prior relationshipsbefore their marriage to each other. Baba’s two sons were with a women whom hehad a relationship and never was married to. When he married mama, Mwantumu wasalready a young child. Many people are not educated and start having sexualrelationships at an extremely young age and as a result, have children at anextremely young age as well. This is life and culture in a village.

Mama was exhausted from party preparation…cooking and morecooking. She asked Omari, her first eldest son, to go with me to the weddingreception. Past 8:00 o’clock, we walked to the venue. Whoaa….fancy! Consideringwe’re in a village, it was elaborate and quite the set up. Jane’s family wasinvited to the wedding too so she and I sat together. We both danced with thewomen who were dressed in their finest western eveningwear garb. The ladieseven had hair extension, which made them look like they came from America andnot Tanzania. This wedding was major as ladies got all decked out and jazzedup! As I was dancing, one woman sitting down got up and approached my way totell me that I danced well and to continue it. I had no idea what that was allabout…I’m guessing probably she was happy that a foreigner was into theirculture and event. Funny, I thought…I’mthe only person wearing an African outfit, a foreigner at that!

The wedding reception dragged on forever and I was pooped.If it wasn’t because I was hungry, I’d blow the popsicle stand long ago andreturn home. There was an MC conducting the reception. In Tanzania, bride issuppose to look sad and unhappy out of modesty. Looking at the bride and groomwith their respective best man and best woman, I would asked, who died? Theylooked absolutely somber, gloomy, unhappy, and out right depressed. What a goodjob they were doing at keeping themselves unemotional and modest. It lookedlike they were attending a funeral and not their own wedding. The bride lookedpregnant; she probably was. Finally after dinner was served and we all ate withour hands, I went back home with my mama who eventually decided to attend afterall.

That night, I couldn’t sleep because I was debating in mymind whether to take the kitty with me or not the next morning. I am the masterof the pro and con game. Everything pointed to con. I was so divided 50/50 onlybecause going to Dar es Saalam would allow me to get vet care andsentimentally, to own a kitty given by Usna. The kitty’s name is Amina but I would change it to Usna Alima, names ofmy favorite girls. Then I decided I don’t really their names and never approvedof human names for pets. I would name my kitty…what other than “simba”, which means lion in Swahili.Aside from mental anguish, I hear the kitty meowing out loud in the jiko which made sleeping even moredifficult. I figured I’d decide how I feel in the morning. At the day of theparty, I happily gave my hat, mysignature item as everyone recognizes me with the hat, to Alima and Iransacked my room to see what little gift I can offer Usna. I gave her my pinkcoin purse replicating the famous Balenciaga “Motorcycle” design. I wished Ihad brought more little gifts from USA to give to favorite friends.

Morning came and I saw the white kitty enter my room. Mamamust let him out. I asked where the orange striped kitty was. She was missing.She may have returned home so that is why her sister, Bahati, was meowing all night. I got dressed and go outside to findmy orange kitty, the one I would chose between the two. She was no where to befound. The village kids help me find her but nobody saw her. Fate has already decided for me that Aminaand I are not to be karmically linked. I am not to be her new owner and shewill not be my pet. We weren’t meant to be together. Decision made for me,I don’t need to make it. Hamna shidaor as they say in Kenya, hakuna matata…noproblem!

It was time for me to leave my family and my village ofLusanga A with whom and where I have happily and cozily stayed for nearly 3months. I was sad to say good-bye, but all good things must come to an end.Until then, I will try to return to them for a visit before I return home toAmerica in the next 2 years. Besides, Indirissa has been asking for my handheld crank light and radio, which I have promised to give to him before I leavehis country…as to the prior request of my sister who asked for my Iphone…uh…I don’t think so, but hey…how aboutmy skirt* instead? She gladly accepted.

* A handful of fellowfemale Peace Corps trainees have come up and complimented on this skirt. I wasthinking of giving it away eventually to someone…I guess Mwantumu has karmawith my skirt.