8/20/12

Next few entries I’ll be backtracking a bit, so things will seem disconnected and out of order – but that’s just how my brain works, ok?

I’ll start with Idd – the post-Ramadan holiday, breaking of the fast feast, which was yesterday. For a week prior, everyone I ran into invited me to his or her house to celebrate and eat. I was told many times that you are NOT allowed to be full on Idd, it is a holiday, therefore being full is not a valid excuse for not eating. No one gets full on Idd. I made loose promises to get to my main families’ houses and hoped not to offend anyone if I ran late or missed theirs completely. On Saturday I made plans to go to mosque with my friend Mama Amina at 7am – I figured I could get up that early once for the holiday. Mama Hussein’s house was overflowing with out-of-town guests so she asked me in a ‘this is how things are going to me so just agree with your mama’ sort of way if I could host a few people in my living room on my spare mattress (it seems anytime anyone comes to my house they take inventory of everything I own for future favors). Mama Hussein’s 9-year-old Ayubu, her niece Batuli from Kondoa and her grandchild Muti all came over that night and sandied up my clean floor but were otherwise good guests.

I set my alarm for 6am, snoozed once, got out of bed at 6:10, washed my face, brushed my teeth and donned my new Muslim muumuu that I can’t remember the name of – blue with black polka-dots, to the floor and with a headwrap to match. I pulled my hair into a bun and did my best to wrap my head up, which wasn’t a very good job but I tried. I left for Mama Hussein’s at 6:45 (she’s right next door) to meet Mama Amina and go to mosque.

Dawn stretched on and on under the overcast sky, and the noises of holiday preparations could be heard all around me. Children cried as they were bathed with cold water and dressed in special holiday mosque clothes. Mama Amina was still sweeping dirt and making chai when I arrived, apparently mosque didn’t start until 7:30 – I could have slept longer but it was nice to be in the midst of the Idd hustle and bustle at Mama Hussein’s house. Plus, Mama Hussein and Mama Amina both helped me to put my headscarf on. Each of them pulling and tugging my head this way and that, fighting with my smooth, slippery hair, and eventually closing it with a pretty bejeweled pin. In the end it was nice and tight and smooth, which meant my face was squeezed and chubby-looking, but apparently I looked beautiful.

The men put on their best Kanzu’s and hats and headed to mosque. Mama Amina, running late as usual with the prep of chai for 20 and 3 kids to bathe and dress, rushed around and we left at 7:36. Abduli, her 5-year-old son had on a new white kanzu and was told to keep it clean. He held it up with both hands and walked around as slowly and carefully as possible, with a look of nervous terror in his eyes. We three, Mama Amina, Abduli and I then walked to mosque, the call to prayer already audible from the main road. We walked by Mariamu sweeping her yard, and other women rushing their children out the door. We weren’t that late after all. It felt a lot like going to a Christmas or Easter church service with a big family. We are all so similar, it’d be great if we stopped pretending we weren’t.

Everyone was all smiles on our way to the mosque, the holiday vibe was in the air – it really felt like Thanksgiving to me, helped by the fact that it is dry season and dried deciduous leaves are everywhere and the air is crisp as in a Michigan autumn. Abduli split off from us as we neared the mosque, as the men have a separate entrance and prayer room. As he hit that fork in the path he continued walking but with his eyes anchored on his mom behind him, that same look of nervous terror. He spoke not a word, because he knew this was very special serious business and he would just have to be a man about it, but you could see the trepidation in his little face. We women all smiled and encouraged him as he tripped along in his too big shoes on the path he was not looking at at all. He would be met by all the other men soon enough.

We arrived, threw off our sandals and lined up inside. As I really don’t know what to do yet, I just followed everyone else’s lead. There are some preliminary prayers and bows, then you take your seat. As we all face toward Mecca, the scene in front of me held rows of women’s backs, all wrapped in colorful fabrics, their heads wrapped in either matching colors or completely different prints, the nicest they had available. No two fabrics being the same, it was a beautiful sight, these rows of colors in a plainly painted room, dawn light streaming in the windows to the west and casting the same sets of shadows on each woman, the folds of her fabrics highlighted in the muted light of an overcast morning.

8/18/12

Back to the wedding story: We showed up, Mama Daudi and I, and were escorted through the hustle and bustle of cooking and excited women dressed in their finest, and into the house of the bride’s family. Mama Daudi being a close friend of the family, we were given somewhat preferential treatment and a warm welcome. Everyone was talking and laughing, an air of joy permeated the place. Drums started to play, and first a few then gradually more women gathered outside the house to dance, yelling ‘kazana’ when two especially good dancers were encouraged to dance together in friendly competition. Mariamu, my neighbor and one of my favorite village friends told me to dance, and since I am never one to turn down the change to dance, I kazana’d with a bunch of mamas to show them how it’s done. I snapped a few pictures, and then it was time for the bibi harusi (bride) to arrive. All the women went out to welcome her with yelps, shouts and tongue-fluttering calls, raising quite a racket. Bibi harusi’s head was covered with a khanga and her father led her to the house. They asked me to take a picture of her and her father as she approached the house, so they lifted her khanga and I snapped a few. This was a weird moment for me – here is this mzungu taking pictures of a bride and her father, two people I don’t know, and all the while bibi harusi looks at me without the slightest hint of joy. She does not smile once, but instead looks on the verge of tears, utterly miserable. The father is all smiles. I took the picture, the bride was again covered with the khanga and her father led her into the house. Everyone else stayed outside to cheer, then gradually moved to a shady spot where tarps had been laid for sitting on and began wedding prayers from the Koran.

Why was the bride so miserable? Not being well versed in Muslim weddings or Warangi tribal wedding traditions, I decided to ask about it later. It turns out that in Warangi weddings, for some reason that I didn’t quite grasp, it is considered uncouth and a bad omen for the bride to show happiness. In fact, temper tantrums and tears and cries of despair are preferred. The more despondent you are, the more you are respected as a bride. Again, not sure of the cultural reasons for this. Anyways, after she was led into the house and we commenced prayers I did not see her again, nor did I ever lay eyes on the groom. Only a few choice family members where permitted into the closed room into which she was led.

Prayers went on for what seemed like a very long time, an hour or more. I kept having to adjust my posture to bring life back into my sleeping feet, and at the same time avoid showing their unavoidably dirty soles throughout the long string of ‘Amina’s (Amen). We sat facing a row of enormous sufurias (aluminum pots) raised on bricks over wood coals, and as I don’t understand Arabic I just spaced out watching the men throw tones at the curious dogs who sniffed around the food, and gradually took each sufuria to a courtyard to start dishing out portions to the guests. After prayers, Mama Daudi and I were brought into the house and given 3 huge bowls of pilau – spiced rice with meat between the two of us. With our hands we ate our fill, then left shortly after so Mama could return to her probably hungry baby at home. It had already been a long day, so I did not mind missing the dance party that followed and went home to relax.

Today was a fabulous day, finally got my butt out of the house at a decent hour and got a nice surprise that I’ll write about later. Idd, the end-of-Ramadan celebration is tomorrow – I’ll go to mosque at 7am and spend the rest of the day eating – my kind of holiday.

8/10/12

Ok this time I’m definitely going to finish my Mama Daudi story. I sit by the fire while she cooks, warming my toes, stirring, occasionally looking up at the Milky Way above us, and having relaxed conversation. These are some of my favorite moments. Mage, the 7-year-old had a very blond, very pale doll one day, and we spent a good amount of time inventing new hairstyles for her. Another day, mage and Mama Daudi broke into song, singing through all the old children’s tunes they could think of. Godbless does his best to scoot and crawl and laugh and squeal on the concrete courtyard floor until he gets too close to the wood fire and either Daudi, Mage or Mama picks him up to entertain him. I love this family.

Mama Daudi took me to a wedding in my village, my first traditional Muslim Warangi (the local tribe) wedding. I’m not sure what I expected, but the ceremony and festivities confused me a bit until things were explained to me later on.

7/23/12

Been pleasantly overwhelmed lately, so last entry got cut off and postponed. To pick up talking about Mama Daudi, I’ve taken to sitting by the wood fire in their courtyard while mama cooks, chatting and occasionally taking over stirring duties if she need to nurse the baby. I love sitting there, warming my…

(Keep getting cut off, next entry will be very long and informative, so much to tell!)

7/19/12

Back in Dodoma, on my way to Dar, then AMERICA! Flight leaves LATE Sunday night/early Monday morning. Lots to do before then.

Some memorable moments from the past couple weeks in the village – I got to stay home longer because the grants committee meeting was cancelled. I’m feeling much better and much more level these days.

Been spending lots of time with my bestie Mama Daudi. She is such a wonderful person, and we have become great friends – it is possible to have reall cross-cultural friendships! I’m so much more at ease in the village now that I’ve formed stronger relationshops, it’s just easy being there now. So anyways, I go to Mama Daudi’s house for dinner a few times a week, she is the wife of my main counterpart, so I spend a lot of time there. Godbless, their 10 month old son can now say ‘dada’ (sister). I’m trying to get him to say ‘dada Rachel’ but for now just plain dada lights up my world.

7/10/12

Back to Chuck’s birthday – it was pretty low key, drank some beers, played some cards, ate some sambusas (samosas), attempted a dance party at NBC club, but no one was there and they had already begun stacking up chairs when we arrived. We ate the banana cake – yum. We stayed at this dumpy guesti with a fancy bar. There was no running water, so bucket baths, and cold ones if you were dirty at the wrong times, it was. Kat, Eric and I shared a room and slept horizontal on the bed, Kat and I wrapped in our shukas (masai blanket wrap things) with Eric sandwiched in between. It was just a few of us, and it was great fun.

The next day we hopped a bus to Katesh to go to the Goat Roast – a goodbye celebration for a bunch of departing PCVs at Justin Zs house. He lives in right in Katesh town but in a quiet neighborhood – perfect place for a chill weekend party. The bus from Kondoa to Katesh is one that I will never take again – the road was horrendous and dust covered everything. I was pretty surprised when we made it to Katesh with plenty of daylight. The guesti was painted Barbie pink and had hot showers, for a reasonable price. The Goat Roast itself was awesome – cornhole, Frisbee, music, me throwing around a football with my girly arms, Alana, Danielle and I enlisting a bunch of kids to play football with us, a giant fridge of beer – pay as you go (JZ has electricity, lucky sob), lots of new people and old faces, general hanging out, and oh yeah, the ROASTING OF THE GOAT.

Everyone that attended the roast (about 30 people I’d say) pitched in for food, and JZ ahead of time bought a large goat, named it ‘Dinner’ and fed it exorbitantly for some time before the Roast. Early on the 23^rd, it was slaughtered by a professional – this guy had the greatest moustache in Tanzania – think twistable, skinned and roasted over coals for 7+ hours just outside JZ’s courtyard. They they dug a huge pit for the coals and watched it roast all day long while we drank, had a case race, and played lots of cornhole. When it was all good and roasty, they butchered it in the courtyard, and each of us had our fill with lots of leftovers. Mike decided it was a good idea to eat the tongue, supposedly the best part, but looking at Dinner’s charred head kind of creeped me out. The meat was extremely tasty – I recommend it if you ever get the chance. Later on, another meal of rice and ‘vegetables’ (veggies = potatoes, we were kind of peeved but it was still good) was brought, and the games and dancing continued into the night.

The night before we had excellent kitimoto – pork – at a local restaurant, so it was a weekend of really good food.

On Sunday we had tickets to go straight from Katesh to Dodoma for Zinduka training, which started on Monday. The bus, which was supposed to come in at 10:30am, arrived around 7pm. In the mean time, we were told strings of lies and exaggerations by the standi folks, which prevented us from making a new plan early on in the day. The bus had broken down – bad bearing, and was awaiting parts and repair, which they knew would take all day. Instead of disappointing us – i.e. helping us by telling the truth – the bus was always ‘right around the corner, it’ll be here within the hour’. The result being that we hung out at the standi all day, ate there, drank sodas and beer, laid in the sun, got more and more irritated with the bus people and with each other, and tried to think of alternative plans – all of which were VERY expensive and many of which may or may not have got us to Dodoma on time. In the end, we got the damn bus, which broke down again after 10 minutes, stopped for an hour, and eventually made it to VETA, our training site at around 230am. Needless to say, we were all trying our best to be upbeat Zinduka coaches at 8am the next day.

The Zinduka training was excellent – really the best PC trining I’ve received yet. Everyday was packed, the lessons were relevant, and our coaches (we each brought 2 people from our villages to be trained with us) all loved it. I was going through some emotional stuff, but was distracted enough most of the time to participate. Good training, but it was not an easy week – a lot of sleepless nights, avoiding the party, crying, but I pulled through. I went to Dar immediately to talk to the doc and get out of the Dodoma gloom. All I wanted was to be back in my vill, but it was really best for me to separate myself completely from PC and come down. You know how I’ve been talking about neverland? Well I think I’m coming back to earth these days

I only spent a few days in Dar. I did a lot of thinking – should I really still be here? I stayed with an expat and watched a bunch of movies – The North Face, Mona Lisa Smile, Step Up – the one with Channing Tatum (Hot!!) and a bunch of old Hannah Barbara cartoons – The Jetsons, TopCat, did some clothes shopping/gift shopping for the states (new jeans are way too tight, hoping to stretch them out so I wear them around the house), and organized my NEW EXTERNAL HARD DRIVE! Bought from minh, a pcv in Dodoma, and already FULL of movies and tv shows – WIN! I was trying my hardest to let things go, get back to an emotional/mental normal, then I got mugged on my way to meet someone for dinner.

I was waiting for a dala dala, but traffic was horrific, and so a few were passing – none of the line I needed – so I thought I’d cross the Selande Bridge to the next standi and I’d have better luck there. Well, right after crossing the bridge, mind you this is a day when I’m feeling pretty confident and awesome in TZ, I’m also feeling clever because I’d emptied my purse of anything unnecessary and had my phone and $ in my bra, I enter a strip of sidewalk next to a bunch of brush. I hadn’t noticed that I was completely alone, and some guy ran up behind me, grabbed my purse, which I was holding with my hands, and tore it off me, the shoulder strap completely breaking off as he did so. I screamed in terror, naturally thinking he could have a weapon or something more terrible would happen, but he was already running into the bush. I screamed ‘MWIZI!’ – thief, but no one was close enough to me to do anything about it. Then I remembered my $ and phone were safe and sound, so I yelled ‘HAMNA HELA!/NO MONEY!’ in a particularly snotty ‘haha stupid dummy’ kind of way. He turned and looked at me briefly with an incredulous look on his face, whether because I knew Swahili or because he had stolen a purse that would be useless to him I’m not sure, then continued out of site.

I didn’t lose my money, but I was pretty shaken up, and pretty pissed. I was soon surrounded by a bunch of Tanzanians who looked around for him, but it was no use. An older gentleman walked with me to find a bajaj, no way I was walking anymore. He did get away with my flash drive – recently backed up thankfully, swiss army knife, personalized Texas license plate mint box, chapstick, hand sanitizer, copies of ID and bank card, some phone voucher, my fav pen, a mirror, and a bunch of candy. <– all replaceable, but annoying nonetheless. Plus, I really liked that purse!

Ah well, I got to my friend’s house and he surprised me with a small tote from the LA natural history museum (new purse!), a flash drive, and a swiss army knife! Some people suck (ie thieves), but lots don’t. I’m so thankful for all the wonderful people in my life. We went to get sushi – closed 😦 then decided on Indian.

I spent a long next day at the police station and the bank, and boarded a bus the following day for Dodoma as I was ready to get home already! I Dom I stayed with Yue, a pcv, and together with Scott, a WFP intern and Minh we ate giant salads at Sipe – the Italian coffee shop/delicious things place. I had pretty bad diarrhea afterwards, but damn did it taste good. I made them watch 21 Jump Street, and I caught a bus to kondoa the next day. I stayed in Kondoa one night, as I arrived too late to catch my vill bus, caught up on typing, etc. and watched Zack and Miri Make a Porno – VERY entertaining.

Somethings that have been making travel easier these days: 1) Latching on to the old grandpas who drink Turkish coffee. If I can find those coffee kettles anywhere around, I’m usually in for good conversation, good(ish) coffee, friendly people, and no marriage proposals. Grandpas (babus) are quickly becoming my favorite people. 2) Latching on to mamas – too many marriage proposals today? Chat up some mamas = immediate support system. 3) Someone gave me their baby to hold on the way back from Babati one time. The little darling slept the whole way and was wearing the most adorable hat. Biological clock… 4) “If someone talked to your sister like that, would you like it?” – “Kama mtu anaongea na dada yako kama haya, utaipenda?”

Memorable event in the vill from a couple weeks ago – Zulea and I were looking at the stars one night, I was holding her, pointing and saying Nyota – which means stars. This word sounds a lot like Nyoka – snake, and being only 2 years old she was very nervous about the supposed snakes in the sky and kept looking to me for reassurance. We were examining the Milky Way when THE BIGGEST SHOOTING STAR I HAVE EVER SEEN streaked across they sky. It was incredible. Zulea shrieked NYOKA! and we gazed above us completely bewildered. I’ve been back in the vill now for 5 days, and have spent much of that time holed up in my house like a hermit – cleaning, reading (I got completely sucked into Forster’s A Room with a View and finished it in 2 days, now on to David Sedaris then Jurassic Park and the Fountainhead) and strategizing how to keep on keepin on in the village. I’ve been working and networking alittle, and trying to form stronger bonds with my friends here. I plan on spending most, if not all my free time here from now on. This really is a good place to be. I’m trying my best.

Fortunately or unfortunately, I am leaving again on Sunday for Dar as I made it onto the grants committee! It’s a good opportunity and doesn’t require me to be out of the vill to do it. I go from there straight to Merica, I’m ready I think!

7/6/12

Let’s talk about socially based societies, as opposed to societies where individuals reign supreme. There is this widespread misconception that socially based societies are these wonderful casseroles of happy people mutually supporting each other, loving each other and having a great time all the time despite environmental and economic challenges. This is a fallacy, and it is perhaps the biggest expectation I had going in Peace Corps. It has brought with it the biggest emotional and professional consequences due to the fact that it is not true. Not even in the slightest.

Let me clarify what I mean by a socially-based society. I DO NOT mean socialism, which is a structure of government. Social-based societies have to do with people, culture. The Group is the main focus, as opposed to the individual. This does not mean, however, that everyone works toward a common good. Instead it is often the case that people do just enough to remain a part of the group. Instead of people mutually supporting each other, in a happy-love-fest, a socially-based society requires that everyone be submissive and subservient to everyone else. TZ culture is a culture of giving in, of not stepping on another person’s toes (figuratively, literally it happens all the time). It is a culture of being walked-on and being defeated. You are always at the (top) of the totem pole. In the group, you don’t matter one bit, but you must do your part.

I’ve been seriously struggling with this reality. My most heavily ingrained expectation has been turned on its’ head. I had hoped to learn about the benefits of socially based societies and bring back some knowledge and best-practices to the states for grad school. But there is something to be said for individualist societies, where each person is valued by their merits, but this is also a bit of a fallacy. Somehow a balance must be found, between the submissive culture of socially-based societies and the ‘I am the most important person in the world’ culture of the USofA. Neither extreme has it right, but that begs the question, is there a right? Is there an ultimately better societal structure than others, one that nourished the individual AND the group? Is it attainable? Is it different based on which culture it caters to?

If I am to make it though this thing call Peace Corps, I have to be realistic about what Tanzania is, what the culture is, and I have to come to terms with the fact that it is changing me in ways good and bad. I also have to be realistic about what the culture of Peace Corps is, a drinking and getting crazy, sometimes disrespectful culture, and choose for myself what I want MY Peace Corps experience to be. Reality has hit me this past week, and I have entered a phase of grieving. Grieving for my fallen expectations and naïve world view. I think I’ve left Neverland for good, and this might be my ticket to sanity and success in my service.

I’ve decided to stay in my village as much as possible, to avoid the big party entirely. I’ve received permission to visit other volunteers in other regions to work with them, rather than hang out in the Dodoma vacuum. I am going to break down and buy google voice and skype time to call people in the states in order to stay grounded. I will be more involved with the Peace Corps office, which starts with my being placed on the grants committee. I need more close friends outside of the volunteer community, so keeping in touch with my expat friends is also on my list. Someone said to me yesterday that the support system I used to have in my friends and family in the states, I now need to find within me. I need to become self-sufficient. If I can do that for myself, I will have grown more as a person than I ever expected to in PC. I am starting today. I need to pass this phase of fighting everything, accept the reality of PC, and make it work for me. While I’m not exactly happy yet, I feel relieved that reality has reared its’ ugly head and I can now take action to deal with it and cope. Let’s just hope I don’t become a bitter old lady after these two years.

So let’s go back to Chuck’s birthday. I couldn’t find carrots, so I baked a couple banana cakes instead. I gave one to my neighbors, who were completely flabbergasted at how good it was, let me pat myself on my back a little, and the other I brought to Kondoa.