Since arriving at site and prior to departing for Peace Corps' 2 weeks In-Service Training in several days, I have diligently worked on this 50 pages long report and I've also made a Power Point presentation, my first attempt ever. Power Point is great fun. When you live in a rural village with nothing else going on, Power Point is the equivalent to computer games. What a blast!
I'm still teaching English to students at Makula and French to students at Image. To my delight, the Tanzanian students have an impressively good French accent. It is a language that most mouths bastardize. It ain't easy sounding elegant and romantic which is the essence and core being of this Romance language. I'm glad and somewhat surprised that my after school French class is a hit and students from standards 1 thru 7 truly enjoy my teaching. Before I started, I had wonder if it would be a dud and an implausible idea thinking they are barely functional in English...and now I'm going to introduce a new foreign language their country don't even speak? Well, I'm somewhat stunned, it's extremely well received; the kids fancy it. I'm pleased. There are many days when I'm truly exhausted from teaching my morning classes, continued research, writing and editing, food coma from gummy-gooey over-priced crap spaghettini and just plain old aging and on top of that...the sloppy, muddy mess outside from the heavy rain because we are in the rainy season....that the last thing I want is to get up from my slanted couch and walk to the next school and work again. Teaching English to 3 classes in the morning can deplete me, because I have Special Ed students. They are taxing to teach, to say the least. When I began, I noticed how the students were unresponsive and appeared to be incapable of learning. It seemed deeper than just plain shyness and fear of a foreigner. To relieve me of my ignorance, some students would inform me who is illiterate, so I would appreciate why they would sit comatose and stare blankly into twilight zone without answering my simple question, even in Swahili. The head teacher and teachers from both schools and villagers have all apprised me that students at this school are residents from this one particular street or sub village, where the population are mostly inbred, which justifies why the students are obtuse. The teachers and I share the difference in the educational system between Tanzania and America. In USA, Special Ed children would belong in one class where a specially trained educator would teach these students with special needs. In Tanzania, there is a shortage of teachers; consequently, normal and problem students intermix. My standard 5 class is nearly half Special Ed. This class is intensely energy sapping as I try to engage them but sometimes to no avail. Working with these children is an exercise for me in practicing patience, compassion and mostly...sensitivity. Aside from their learning disability, I am also dealing with extreme shyness, discomfort with a new teacher, namely a foreigner, and sadly their innate shame and embarrassment. Countless times as I wait for what seems like an eternity to their answer of a simple "how old are you?", I remind myself to imagine their pain and confusion. They are good-natured kids; but unfortunately, being raised in a poor farming village does not make for bright students as they lack basic fundamental educational material and a conducive environment for learning. When there are scarcely books in school to read and study, how can you produce motivated and smart kids? We are in desperate need of books. It's pathetic. There are only 4 textbooks for a class of 25-32 kids to share. At the beginning of teaching; I would ask them to read from their thin English books, but soon realized it was in vain. A group of kids, all huddled together in a circle like football players strategizing the next move, there is no way the students can see and properly read. I told them, forget it..dump the books...just listen to me and copy what I'm writing on the board. Pay total attention to what I'm teaching. Today, I was reviewing English from the manual of Ministry of Education that looks like testing material for standard 7 students passing for entrance to secondary school. Even the manual has errors in it. I've caught 3 mistakes and I'm not even finished with the first page. Although it's easy just to bypass the problem kids; I don't ignore them. (No doubt, my life would be gazillion times more laid-back if I did...and less incoming gray hair) I unfailingly treat them as the others, because I believe no student should be left behind. The truly Special Ed kids, according to the head teacher, receive an additional class to "get them to speed". Often, I find myself yawning and trying to stay awake. I need toothpicks to keep my eyelids open. In a classroom environment where students don't respond, it's like watching paint dry. It's that stimulating. Watching paint dry may be even more interesting as you can see the color turn from darker to lighter. The students are breathing statues. If I want them to be animated, fun loving and talkative, responsive and "alive"....there is one trick. It's call "IPHONE". They go bananas when I whip my phone out as they love their photos or video taken. I am still trying to find the balance of teaching essential subjects, choose an approach for students coming from a different culture and educational background, and be realistic in their learning ability. Probably, what's most crucial is preserving my sanity. It is easy to go mad and batty. I dread the day I'll be pulling my hair out screaming, "I quit!" while stomping off and leaving a trail of chalkboard dust behind me.
If I don't teach them, I can luxuriously sleep in every morning; albeit, the commotion from 414 students from another school in front of my house. I'm genuinely keen on the students though, as they are respectful, docile and sweet little people. Today, I did kick a boy out. Distract, laugh, and don't pay attention in my class will get your sorry ass thrown out from my class. I've been told I can whoop them no more than 6 whacks in a row. Of course, I will never lay my hands on them. Corporal punishment occurs in Tanzania. I don't approve of this and I cry inside when I witness it, which Thank God is seldom where I teach. They are well-behaved students and I'm a steadfast teacher. If I'm dogged in my teaching style; it is only because I want them to learn. Is it a crime to care too much? I try to mix boring grammar with something lighthearted like singing, games and what they enjoy is watching me draw on the board in vocabulary lessons. All the students' appearance are similar. If it isn't for the skirt or shorts; sometimes, I can't tell the gender of the child. The hairstyles are identical; it's either shaved or extremely kept short. Even the names betray their gender. I've seen the most interesting and beautiful names here. Exotic. Many times, I'd call a particular student only to say his or her name out loud. My heart sinks when I see their scalps with infection and body parts dirty with mud from farm work at the school, school sweater uniform so torn that some are literally only wearing loose yarn which amazingly can still be worn and held together as a single unit and the boys' and girls' shorts' and skirts' zippers all broken where I see skin through their crotch opening or side seam from the skirt. Wednesdays are "hygiene day", when students leave school early at 2 PM to wash their uniforms. I suspect not all families will wash the students' clothes. Most likely, they only have one set of school uniform and the clothes may not dry on time for the next morning. When I see the students on Thursdays; frankly, their clothing don't look any cleaner than the day before.
I've hired a house girl to clean my house everyday. Her duty is simple: Wipe down the ceiling, walls and floors from dust, debris, spider webs, and assorted living and dead bugs and insects. To rid them completely is impossible. After she leaves, I still see a honker beetle or spider on the walls or floor. These creatures are attracted to light; the con, if I happen to have electricity.
Esthetically, there is no difference in the house. It's only for sanitation that I have her do this repetitive chore. Before my young lady arrived to work for me, I was sweeping almost daily. The mini hill of the pile of dust, debris, and tiny corpse were abundant. Outside my house, I am surrounded by farm field and currently a water project is in the work where men dig ditches. Being in the rainy season, debris and dust flies everywhere. Her gig is easy compare to other households who hire a house girl where families have 5,6,7,8 and even 10 children not counting the many chickens. I'm only one person and she does not live with me so her time at my house is short and sweet. I pay her the same wage as if she was a live-in doing everything. I rather give this young, single, 26 years old mother the work. Support the locals and give myself a break, I say! The time I'm not cleaning, I'm resting as I find myself sleepy and fatigued almost daily. I wonder if it is the lack of vital nutrients, complete boredom of this village, the weather which changes quickly and dramatically like Madonna's hairstyle or I'm getting old. Or all of the above.
Her cooking, occasionally I'd ask her to make something, needs to be tempered as she overdoses the dish with oil and salt. Since her presence in my house, my oil and salt supply have quickly diminished in quantity. Tanzanians over cook their veggies. In the USA, we espouse undercooking, if not... eat raw veggies to preserve its nutrient and vitamin. Here, vibrant green color veggies can turn a khaki green and a mushy slop.
I've completed installing wire screens on my windows to keep critters from futilely coming in. This was the Village Chairman's responsibility before I'm to arrive and live in the village, but asking for something in a village takes forever, so better I handle it myself. Thanks to buddy Glenn, he helped me with this task. He and I on a ladder while one person holds the screen and the other hammers away. I didn't buy enough screens, so I bought more and this time, my Eddie Murphy look-alike friend installed it all by himself. He's 26 years old and a soccer star, so I'll let this young athlete take care of it. I'm pooped. Besides, I'm giving him the leftover remnant of the screens so he can make sieves out of them which is a great idea for recycling.
The recent, if not major and exciting news in my village, is my gift of 16 balls and a volleyball net to Image Village. The total cost is my 2 months' living allowance. This was money drawn from my American bank account last year to survive on since my Tanzanian bank account got ripped off by no-good scum-of-the-earth hoodlums. This is a lot of money for Tanzanians and also for a Peace Corps Volunteer who is on a budget, living the local standard. The money I spent on the balls would have been a sweet vacation for me. Unquestionably, to give something well loved to a village is more important than me taking a trip. I can always take a trip but Image may never at once receive 12 soccer balls, 2 net balls, 1 volley ball and a net. This idea came about when after speaking with many people, the only thing villagers can partake and watch as a recreation is soccer. I live in a village where there is pretty much nothing going on except 2 primary schools, a dispensary, 6 churches, some hang out to drink locally made alcohol from corn or bamboo, some shack stores and several soccer fields. Crop encompasses everything. I live in an agricultural community midst maize, bean, coffee and tea crop. Everybody is a farmer; even teachers and village leaders are farmers. Unless you farm and are big on worshipping in churches on Sundays...without exaggeration, there is NOTHING going on or to do in Image Village. A soccer match is a "happening day". To my amazement at the "nothingness", villagers confirmed this to me. The gist in Swahili from them was "yep, there is nothing here." Back at my home stay village, at least villagers were out and socialize. My village, you see people mostly walking to and from farm. Sunday is church time. Youths have not much a future since the education system is dysfunctional. This year, tons of kids failed their exam to enter secondary school. The head teacher tells me 65% of the students scored nothing...like, how do you score nothing? I was too busy and intently listening to him explain the weak system that I didn't ask for clarification. There exists no skill training in my village, and many do not pass the exam to continue to secondary school which is equivalent to high school. The people are peasants and they do not encourage children education since they are uneducated themselves. They may wish that their children remain at home and work on the family farm. There is no environment for learning or obtaining inspiration. Unless they advance further to university and find a job to work to make a living, frankly, their future is somewhat bleak. They will live back at home and help with the family farm in which the crop they harvest will feed them. Maize is corn which in turn will be ground into flour which to make their beloved ugali. They eat this 2 to 3 times daily. Rice is expensive so it's usually reserved for special occasions and meat even more costly. Meat is only available if a butcher comes into our village to sell. I have since at site, seen pig and a cow meat for sale twice in the nearly 3 months I've taken residence here. My only protein intake is beans and the desperate splurge of canned fish from back home. I've yet to buy eggs, also expensive. Young girls will get pregnant and or marry early. They may have many children if they abide by the church, who claims birth control is evil. Being uneducated peasants doesn't help either in their unawareness of family planning. Tradition and culture says that many children is a sign of wealth. I don't see how wealthy they are if the brood are wearing threads on their shoulders without shoes and living on ugali and beans. I am taller than most Tanzanian men, never mind the women. This may be a nutrition issue?
So I've rambled and digressed, as I talk about food ad infinitum. Back to the balls: The soccer balls are something that youths can enjoy and to stave from inebriating, drug consumption, and practicing unprotected sex. Engaging in sport is a positive. Soccer is loved world wide, so even a rural village in Africa yearns for professional associations, new gear and competitions. The sport balls give the community inspiration and recreation. Men, women, and children all benefitted...should have picked a lil' ball for the dogs too. Next time, I'm broke now.
Needless to say, the villagers are pleased and grateful for the generosity. Schools and soccer teams have made a production of receiving these gifts as I've been given several 15 minutes of fame. I'm happy to offer a commodity that is loved by all...let's call it a day.
I've finally purchased a bike. This transport will take me to work in the morning. It's a leftover used bike most likely from mainland China as certainly, there are billions of Chinese bicycles waiting to be recycled. Again, dump what you don't want to Africa. They'll take it; I'll buy it. Riding this two-wheeler makes my ass sore. I live in a hilly terrain with unpaved streets. I am on my bike wobbling and shaking. I think this is what riding a bike feels like during an earthquake. My entire body and ass vibrate vigorously from the bumpy road. At times, I think to myself as I descend the bike to push it uphill..."I'm too old for this gig; where is my convertible Beamer?" Before purchasing the bike, I have agreed to allow the chairman of a group of people living with HIV to borrow my bike, so that he can visit the sick. Couple people told me that he had claimed I was going to buy HIM a bike. Make a long story short, like a country song's title "That ain't so", he was delusional; or as those who are protective have told me that this unfortunately, is the culture here. People will take advantage from a white person, a "mzungu"...because we are all "rich". There has been some occasion when I'm buying my emergency food of fried bread/donut that nearby villagers would ask me to buy one for him or her. A worker digging an irrigation ditch said he was thirsty and solicited a soda from me. I have also traveled into town with a friend and how did it happen that I ended up paying for his bus fares or other small things? My house girl asked if I could give her 600 TZs to buy phone vouchers. Without hesitation, I gave her 2,000 TZs as that's all I had and it will be an advance payment from her monthly salary. Her face sunk. Later, I explained to someone the scene and asked if she was expecting a 600 TZs as a gift. I was told that Tanzanians don't like to receive their partial salary in advance and yes, she was hoping I'd give her the money as a gift. There may be a tendency or expectation that the rich white person will pay. I'll happily oblige these small things, but I have no qualms confronting larger issues. I'm the maitress of confrontation. When I told the HIV chairman that tear and wear on the bike will be inevitable since the terrain is rugged and lumpy, bicycle parts only available in Njombe town, the 3 dinky gears will be over worked and thrashed since the bike will be going down and up hill, and what a hassle to maintain an old Chinese bike...that he helps in the contribution of maintenance since he tells me he has "many people to visit" and needs it often. Ironically, he quickly and disagreeably walked away from my house after I told him this as I sensed immediately his "need" to borrow the bike ain't all for work but for play and convenience. Several trustworthy friends, including his partner co-chairman have advised against letting people borrow my bike, because they will return it broken and say they can't pay for repair. Obviously, it's unthinkable for me to make a peasant pay for my bike's broken parts, although it's only fair they fix what they break. Naturally, the villagers will never feel sorry for the "white person" from America, land of milk and honey. Emotionally, I'm conflicted. I feel petty yet righteous. I want to help and be fair but don't want to be taken advantage and be the white village sucker stuck with the burden. Sometimes, it's not the money spent, but the total and complete pain in the arse hassle to remedy things. Even trying to find food is exasperating, because I don't have a farm where I live off it. My garden in my backyard is a disgrace. I've planted many things, but have gotten lazy to care for it.
Life is laborious here. I wonder about the local habit. Being the totally thick-skinned person I am, which people either admire/respect or are intimidated/annoyed, I've asked personal questions relating to the personal habits of the Tanzanians. I've asked the following politely but with determination that I want a clear answer.
1.How do you clean yourself when you do "number two"; do you even wipe?
2. Where do people go for privacy to have sex since there are 20 million people living in the house?
3.Tell me about the women's hair. It's extension, isn't it?
4. How often do people take a bath? Obviously, not everyday right?
5. You guys are okay with eating ugali 2 to 3 times a day for your entire lives? Ain't it kinda boring?
6. So people don't use shampoo, but soap to wash their hair? It's drying, you know?
7. What do women use when they menstruate? And how and where do they ditch that bloody mess?
I asked several men and women these questions to get a consensus as I like accuracy. The Tanzanians did not throw a plate of hardened leftover ugali and beans at my face screaming, "Get out of our country, you uncouth white person!" At the end of the day, we all gotta do what we gotta do... to Americans, my questionings may be judged as culturally insensitive or politically incorrect. (I think Americans are an over sensitive bunch) On the contrary, they chuckled as they objectively answered me. No big deal. I consider this a "cultural educational exchange". I pressed for more details and they gladly obliged without holding back. They had no problem answering and felt totally natural. This is exactly how I like to talk to people: with honesty. It is what it is. Let's be real and stop pretending that your shit don't stink.
I have a very young friend who comes to visit me from a neighboring village. I suppose it was "love at first sight" for him to see a white person. Although I am not Caucasian, in Africa, anyone not black is considered "white", like India and probably other countries. He asked for my contact upon laying his eyes on me and had made many attempts to meet. We finally connected and being the fabulous and proper guest he is, this aspiring university bound 21 years old student always come bearing gifts of pineapple and avocados from his family's tree and land. Bring me food and an open door will always await you! He even took a photo of me to show his parents as they are thrilled that their son knows my acquaintance. He would ask friends to bring him to me on their motorbike. I would invite them to stay for lunch. When I know my young friend is coming, I ask my house girl to go hunt for food and prepare lunch. (I think my house girl digs it when I have young male visitors. I've seen some googly eyes and giggles going on) He wants to be exposed to the outside world, be advised and consulted, practice English, ask questions and "learn" from the "white person". I told him I'd happily tell him what he wants and needs to know. This is reverse "Seven Years in Tibet". I am Hans, the Austrian Olympic mountain climber turned Dalai Lama's tutor. He is basically my daughter's age. I'll be his mama...as long as he continues to bring me goodies! There's no free lunch in life, so the saying goes.
Speaking about lunch, let me elaborate what "hunt for food" looks like for me. Imagine I live in a big, big village filled with farm land. None of it belongs to me. My garden looks like a junk yard, but I do have pigweed growing wildly so I can always eat that, but do you want to eat spinach everyday if there is only one way to eat it? Thank you! Exactly! The shack stores are closed 80% of the time because people, guess where? ....are farming on their land. Their land is their livelihood. They feed off it and sell the surplus. If a shack store is open, tomatoes and onions are the staple. As long as I have a staple of those crappy spaghettini, I can survive on scheisse pasta with tomatoes and onions. On a miraculous day, one may find cabbage, potatoes, some greens and eggs. But again, more often than not, stores are closed and food for sale scarce. Now that I have my house girl, she goes to hunt for me and I give her money. She has to know who is willing to sell what they have or go ask neighbors and villagers for some greens from their garden. The variety is always the same rotated. Hunting means either asking from people, walk the village in hopes that a store is open with veggies for sale or when no one is looking, scrump an avocado from a tree. I've done that once. I swear, I only took one!
I've received thus far, 3 care packages from friends. Needless to say, what little things will make a poor Peace Corps Volunteer happy is priceless. We're probably thrilled even to receive those difficult to open tiny fast food condiment packages, airline salt and pepper packs, individually wrapped Saltine or oyster crackers that comes free with soup ordered in a restaurant, dehydrated camping food, expired hardened dried food that you wouldn't give your pet and junk we'd normally wouldn't touch or sniff back home are now a total welcomed treat. Standards go down real fast. Taste and nutrition, I've become blind. Aside from the content, for me it's to be thought of and the effort spent to put a smile on my face. Thank you, kind friends. I have to pay heavy duty on packages I pick up. The price I pay for duty is more than I dare say, the worth of the content. It's a fraction of our monthly living allowance or my house girl's 2 months salary. Freaking rip off duty...pisses me off!!! I'm very happy to receive a package; albeit, being poorer. The cost of receiving whatever you don't want from your kitchen pantry's spring cleaning is worth it. Many times when I look at the edible goodies, part of me says, "the kids would love the candies and snacks.. give them some" and then another part would say, "you're the one desperate for food and your generous friends sent it to you...so enjoy it!" Then the voice of reason would explain: "Dude, you have a little amount. How are you going to fairly give? Don't start trouble." Of course, reason wins but I actually feel guilty enjoying my snacks and candies when I know a poor African kid would be in hog heaven receiving goodies from white man's country and getting a taste of it. I will never forget my Tanzanian mama and brother sharing and relishing a Snicker bar I gave them. They ate that bar like it was precious dark gold with peanuts like yellow sapphire nuggets. Mama said it would be delicious with coffee. They took a bite with joy and folded the candy bar to save for another time of bliss. My heart was crying inside as I almost wanted to call my family in USA and ask them to run out to Costco to send me Snicker bars by the case. I later discovered one can buy this in country but way expensive.
I struggle a lot emotionally in wanting to give but for fear of now being the Godfather, where now people will wait in line and tell me their sob stories while I recline in my chair smoking a cigar with my already low and deep dude-like voice saying, "..and what will you do for me? How 'bout some beans and avocados?" I wish I had Oprah and Gates' dough combined. That's a lot of food and schooling for a continent. Me giving or paying something will not solve the big picture of whatever they're suffering from. I've resolve to be here to educate and train. Education is priceless. Before I leave the country, I will give everything away except my Apple products and Kindle. The only souvenir I'll take home is the heartfelt kindness from the Tanzanians. I'll always remember that and be grateful.
If there is anything keeping me here, it's mostly the children, les enfants, watoto. As I teach, I compartmentalize category of faces. There are ones who I smell intense fear and unease. Another group has blank faces and can't take their eyes off me and at times I wonder what they are thinking...are they even thinking? Can't tell...and another group has an expression of amusement and admiration. Their faces say, "Who is this white person speaking shitty Swahili teaching us English? She's funny, she moves funny and makes funny sound effect. We enjoy watching her. She works hard teaching us".
One Peace Corps Volunteer in my region Early Terminated and returned home to USA. We are now 38 instead of the original 41. She stated safety and security issues were decisive factors to terminate Peace Corps. How I envy she'll have hot running water, perpetual electricity, and reliable Internet. And I mustn't forget the food, different food. Oh food, glorious food!...And no more bugs! For those contemplating serving Peace Corps, it's 27 months of living...well, per the agency's website, it states plainly that one should prepare to live under hardship. What does that mean? Needless to say, the safety and security are built-in inherent risks. If more people have thought out more in depth and did more research about truly what Peace Corps "looks like", there may be less returning home...family emergency and medical issues non withstanding. Peace Corps serves third world undeveloped sites. What do you expect? Club Med? Peace Corps' slogan: "The hardest job you'll ever love!" Yes, I believe this is so. I'm very tired everyday and I haven't even started what I'm stationed here to do. It most certainly is rewarding and Peace Corps is an admirable agency. I've been told by fellow PCV that we are really spies, unbeknownst to us. I really can not verify. If I share the happenings of my village to the US government, but at the same time educating and assisting in development to the locals, then there is value to being an "espionage", I suppose...I don't know...really. I'm too preoccupied hunting for food.
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