Today I'm Sick with Mafua

Dear Mom,

Don't be alarmed. It's not malaria. And it's not ebola. It's mafua. I think it might be like a cold or a flu but let's be real, this stuff doesn't translate particularly well. During the day I'm high as a kite on DayQuil provided from the kind American students. But at night, I've subjected myself to traditional medicines of the Chagga tribe (my Mama's good ideas).

So that means I'm eating spoonfuls of garlic, honey and ginger.

And I'm only aloud to eat lukewarm fruit.

And when I talk the kids can't stop laughing at my funny voice.

Everyone says you're most homesick when you're sick. Don't worry I'm trucking along just fine. But never in my life have I wanted Ramen as much as I do right now.

Nafasi: Empty Cups and Developing Countries

Yesterday evening, I was provided with some incredible words of wisdom. Their source was neither a scholarly work nor a facebook status nor a presidential speech. Rather, they came in the form of a boot-legged, karate movie with Swahili subtitles. Though this seemed like yet another attempt at bad entertainment, one scene included a brilliant discourse of empty space.

There’s something valuable about the empty spaces that somehow occupy our lives. As this movie addressed, a cup is not useful because it’s a cup, but because there’s empty space inside the cup. A house is not useful because it has walls, but because it has a livable space inside it. Somehow, my mind switched on at a million miles an hour and I realized that I myself am caught in this empty space.

I currently live in a country of open fields, empty buildings and endless potential. If I stare long enough, it’s discouraging. How could this country accomplish all its desired feats when it lacks the infrastructure and establishments to make it happen? But then I remember that an empty field has so much potential. The children use it to play. Mamas use it to gather and socialize. Pastoralists use it to graze their cows (ng’ombe). The cooperative use of collaborating and preservation of this simple empty field has provided it with so much potential, requiring no significant maintenance from the community around.

When I see the empty ins and outs of these communities, I see potential for growth and life and a future that values the farms, the skies and the simple beauties of life. Often times, we are so caught up in an industrial future that welcomes in development and technology and the filling of these empty spaces. But there’s a beauty in the pregnant pauses of a conversation, the hiccups of the mind just before a brilliant idea, the silence as you appreciate the existence of the present moment.

It’s in these moments of no phones, no structures no to-do list that you find the potential of the day and the potential of your life. If you can empty the day and go for a wandering, you’ve filled your day with endless possibilities. If you can pause and listen without speaking, listen without thinking or doing, your moment of silence guarantees endless heartbeats of emotions and realizations and discoveries of life.

Sometimes you need a room with nothing but walls or a field with nothing but grass or a community with nothing but potential. And it’s in these moments that a city or a country or a human, in its full essence, can have room to breathe and develop. And that my friends, is how a developing country maintains its heart: potential in the empty spaces. 

Please Excuse My Soapbox

Okay I’m ready to bite the bullet and admit that Tanzania does not have its act together. As much as I want to say that this beautiful country and this beautiful culture is always right, there’s some things that just seem intrinsically wrong. And recognizing that I have my own Western lens to view my world, sometimes these opinions transcend my own education and perception and reach towards a universal striving to articulate humanity.

For example:

Tanzanian is more than 50% children. Despite this, children’s rights are not something people are willing to address. Education, abuse and child poverty are things shoved under the rug as children lack the voice and representation to make their needs heard. And if you ask a Tanzanian who’s responsibility it is to make things change, no one knows.

•  I told my host father that children at school are not beaten as punishment. He laughed at me.
• Four “street children”, all under the age of eight, asked me for money. My host mother told me not to give it to them. I asked who’s responsibility it was to take care of these children. She said it wasn’t hers. She said it wasn’t the government’s. She shrugged and walked away.
• Five years ago Tanzania signed a document recognizing that the children of Tanzania have rights and dignity that demands to be protected. However, the domestic laws necessary to enact this document have yet to be solidified. Despite the political act of claiming to “protect children” the preservation of childhood has been disregarded as a responsibility of neither the home nor the community nor the government.

My family is educated and brilliant, but my one year-old baby knows only a handful of words including beat, bite, kick, cry and stick. I had one of those mind-blowing realizations that the treatment of a child has nothing to do with poverty or education, but everything to do with culture.

There are at least ten children that frequent my home. But only two, our three year-old and one year-old, receive hugs. In Tanzania, children take on a new role by the age of four, expected to walk to school alone, take care of younger children, and maintain some edge of self-sufficiency. Their developmental needs and struggles are often disregarded as well. So the children whom I live with sit on my lap, willingly receive my hugs and are always excited to see me. I’m not some sort of angelic American swooping in to save them, I just know that young children need love and an opportunity to develop. And I know they need someone to take responsibility and articulate their rights.

Tanzania I beg of you, love your children for the sake of your future. 

My First African Wedding (Harusi Kwanza ya Afrika)

By far, this must have been my best night yet in Tanzania. For my program, we have the most amazing Tanzanian woman, Mercy, who ensures we survive our time abroad. Not only have we been able to come to Mercy with our questions about cultural norms, classes and language translations, but I’ve had the opportunity to find a wonderful Tanzanian friend who I can learn from on a daily basis.

Mercy’s sister got married this weekend and we (myself and another American student) had the great honor of attending this event. My day began at 9 am when I arrived at Mercy’s home. Despite its small size, the home somehow serves to keep Mercy, her husband (John), their son (Jesse), their housegirl (Rukia), and Mercy’s brother (Johannes). Somehow in the middle of all this chaos, there’s a reasonable amount of room to get things done.

Mercy and I left for town with the hopes of getting our hair done. Yes, I officially made it into the intimidating salons filled with Swahili town gossip and a million women dying to play with my hair. The final result looked like I was wearing  a beanie. Mercy got her stunning weave put into place and the two of us prepared to find our ride and get home.

Back at home, our clothes were all laid out, Mercy’s hot pink dress, the bride’s daughter’s flower girl ensemble, suits for John and Johannes, my leopard print number ( a gift from my mama), and a tuxedo for little Jesse. The other American, Kate, arrived just in time for our rush of changing and preparation as we tried to make it out the door and to the church on time.

When we arrived late to the church, I was immediately struck by the fact that there were no cars in the parking lot and no people in the pews. Okay, yeah I know African time is a thing, but I didn’t think the whole congregation was planning on showing up an hour late. However, by the time it had started, we somehow received front row seats next to the family. The perks of being an American are endless here.

As the service began and the bride and groom drove up in their ribbon covered cars, everyone left the pews to dance around the church and up the aisle, the appropriate introduction for the wedding procession. As people dance back towards their seat to a variety of gospel music, the bridesmaids and groomsmen groove on in with an organized line dance. Finally the bride walks in as beautifully and gracefully as you can imagine. She is the only one not dancing and for reasons unknown, does not smile.

 The groom comes from the altar and meets her halfway down the aisle. As they meet, the pastor joins them for the beginning of the ceremony that eventually commences in the lifting of her veil. The two return to the altar where chairs await them. The four king-sized thrones are for the bride, groom and their two witnesses. Following a performance by a dancing gospel choir, the pastor interrupted the service to announce the presence of two Americans sitting in the audience, commanding those around us to translate the service. Thank you Africa for your unbelievable hospitality.

As the service proceeded, Mercy, John and Jesse disappeared. We soon received a call (yes in midservice) telling us to leave outside and come across the street. As Kate and I left the church and crossed the street, John waved us over and into a lean-to shack. Inside was a meal of soda and chips mayai. Yes, sister of the bride, definitely left the middle of the wedding to ensure we all got something to eat. So here we are, just sitting in a little shack, dressed in formal wear, as the wedding proceeds on without us. By far, one of the best meals I've had here, and even better considering the ridiculousness of the situation. Following our meal, we hurried back into the front row to finish the wedding. The wedding ceremony soon ended and we all danced down the aisle and to our cars continuing to a hotel for professional photos.

Mercy, John and Baby Jesse

Me and Kate before we got pulled in for family pictures

Don't ask

Because we happened to be with family of the bride, we ended up at the photo site, planning to stand in the background as the family continued with their photos. Then they asked us to join. So somewhere there are a thousand wedding photos of an Afrikan clan, with two white girls standing in the midst of the family. Did I mention we’d only met the bride once before this moment? My only regret is that I don't yet have that picture framed on my wall...but I will prevail!

Then our procession of cars filed out towards the swanky Lush Gardens for the outdoor ceremony. Here’s a few pictures that can’t even begin to capture how gorgeous the whole affair was.

About twenty different traditions happen at this part of the celebration, including the recognition of the Americans yet again. Once again there was the slicing of wedding cake and feeding to each of the wedding party and family members. This comes with a variety of speeches from both the bride and groom as they recognize all those that got them to this moment. Then comes another train of dancing towards the stage with gifts of dishware, fabrics and cards with money. Following this, chairs are placed in front of the stage for the parents of the bride. They receive their own dancing train and showering of gifts as well.

One beautiful aspect of Tanzanian weddings is that they’re mainly planned by the groom and his groomsmen. The bride and her family serve only as the honored guests. Considering the extravagance and beauty of this wedding, I’d be more than okay to just casually show up day of as the honored guest.

Yeah really, that's a goat

And the final tradition of the weddings  is the beloved African Cake. Here’s a picture. Yes it’s a goat. Yes it’s eyes are open, and yes this is apparently the only way to do a Tanzanian wedding.

By this time it’s about 10 pm and time for the feast. With four kinds of meat, countless fruits, cakes, rice, pasta, vegetables and fresh fruit juices and sodas, you’re more than ready to burst. As we dined, entertainment was provided in two forms. The first was the MC lip syncing and dancing to recorded music. For reasons unknown, Tanzanians were mesmerized by his bad karaoke and I couldn’t stop laughing.

Then three young boys dressed in red checked suits came out for their own dance performance. About halfway through this performance, a fourth young boy in a cheetah suit skips in to do back flips and contort his body, literally doubling himself in half with his feet on top of his head. People got up to toss them bills and cheer them on. And I sat there and wondered, what is my life?

In all the night was a beautiful feat of laughing, dancing and extravagance. The night concluded around 11:30 and we piled into the car, exhausted and happy and with half a wedding cake in our hands. There’s something to be said for memories like these and once again, Between the traditions, the unforgettable moments, and the new-found friends to experience this with, I couldn't be happier. 

One Month Update: I'm doing just fine

If we’re being real, study abroad is hard. I’m on the other side of the world, forced to speak a new language, not know where anything is, and battle the price of international calls home. I am constantly dirty and I’ve yet to hear a moment of silence. Of the contacts in my phone, I’ve known none for more than a month. Stores and hospitals and cultural expectations are different, and you can't tell people that they're wrong. And it makes me tired.

But somehow in the midst of everything this is refreshing. As much as I hate the dust that picks up off the buses and attaches itself to my contacts, my face, the surface of my lungs, I love that my walk to school is fifty percent dirt path – untouched by concrete and industrialism. I miss my cities, but I like the way it feels to stand in the center of chaos and remember just where I am on the globe. I like that the power consistently goes out but we continue on with our conversations in the dark. I like that I get to see what a country looks like as it develops.

Other people here think the churches are crazy. But I’ve never felt so at home. And so filled with joy!

And even though my thighs officially touch each other when I walk now, I am so thankful for the measures my family goes through to make sure I have every food I’ve ever wanted. And women here look awesome with their curves.

Even though I miss my mother’s lemon bars and Sunbear’s meatloaf, my family has done everything to make me feel at home. And they’ve most certainly succeeded.

And while I’ve yet to see an African sunset, the trees that block it are covered in flowers in vibrant pink and orange and purple. And I’ve stared at Mt. Meru long enough to feel like we are one.

And while my heart aches for a Daz Bog Chocolate Chip Chiller, I love to explore what else we could call extravagant.

At the end of the day, this is what I’ve learned about my American life:

• We pay too much for everything.
• We don’t sleep enough.
• We stop caring too early in the game.
• We really need Jesus more often.
• We should spend more time outside.

But just like Africans:

• We really love people. And we really love to admire beautiful things.
• We can dance and we deserve to.
• We have a good taste in music and movies and art.
• We can adapt and we can succeed.
• We are smart and we are driven and our futures are beautiful.
• And most importantly, we've all got a sunset worth watching.
  

All Things Sustainability: Thrive or Survive?

This week I had the fortunate opportunity of visiting the organization ECHO just outside of Arusha. The purpose of this organization is to connect sustainable development projects in Tanzania together to collaborate and ensure more efficient uses of resources. During our time there, we received a tour of some of the sustainable projects and garden designs that are being used throughout the community.

The purpose of many of these designs is to be efficient, low cost and with a substantive harvest. 

This includes water filtration systems and irrigation systems. As you can see here, this is an efficient way of collecting clean water. With an established contraption which connects rain runoff to the covered pool, you are able to collect gallons upon gallons, keeping it together with a single tarp.

There’s this “miracle tree” that everyone swears by called Moringa. Essentially it’s become a way to purify water, cure backaches, provide necessary vitamins and minerals and even be used for building materials and spices. The purification system may be my favorite. You grind up the seeds, pour into water and shake it around. The dirt and bacteria binds onto the seed powder and then when you poor through a filter cloth, the water is free from impurities. Place the water in the hot sun for a while to fry the remaining materials and voila! You’ve solved the second biggest issue of mankind: acquiring clean drinking water. (And everyone knows the first biggest issue is trying to find decent wi-fi.)

Most importantly, I learned the best question to pose in a developing country

. As was explained to us, it’s important to look at a plant and ask, “what would it take to make this plant thrive?” Not just survive, but thrive. This same question could be imposed on your own life, or even on a country you intend to “help”. Under what environmental and social conditions are humans (and countries) guaranteed to thrive. What are the ultimate conditions that will ensure we are healthy, we are progressive and we are living the lives that are intended.

I think we often face the question of how to contribute to a society without imposing your own culture in an ignorant, totalistic matter. But perhaps if we come to a new country asking first, what are the necessities for thriving rather than commodities for our idea of a comfortable life, we can more effectively help without the western volunteer complex.

So, why are you here?

I have a not-so-closet confession to make. I don’t know why I’m here.

Let me take a moment to explain my struggle for purpose. First off, I’m an “mzungu”. What this means is I am a white person in a clearly not white land facing the constant impending question of, “why are you here?” Now, this question is never asked with a harsh tone and people are so excited to talk to the American, stammering in broken Swahili, wide-eyed and spewing “asante sana”. However, the question has left me overwhelmed as I lack the linguistic capacity to bare my soul.

So you’re a tourist? (Mtalii)

No, definitely not. The idea of casually passing through this land without understanding the culture or the people makes me shudder with fear that I’ll receive the guest treatment. It’s bad enough that our understanding of East Africa is limited to Tanzanite and the Serengetti. It’s even worse if I play the role of tourist refusing to learn about more than the scenic wonders of this land.

So you’re a volunteer? (Mwenye Hiari)

While my program does have some elements of human rights development and service learning, it’s absolutely imperative to establish that I am not a volunteer. While volunteers are highly valuable and appreciated by the local community, I hope my contribution to this community looks more like active participation in a community I now call my own. In theory, this allows me a greater understanding of my role and my realistic impact, still to be determined.

So you’re a student? (Mwanafunzi)

Yes. I’m here to learn and to learn only. I’m often struck with the question of what motives my host family might have had for welcoming the strange American with soft hair that never eats and talks to the baby goats. This isn’t one of those national park moments where I take only pictures and leave only footprints. It’s important to realize I’m suddenly an active participant of this community, living and breathing this society as if it were my own. I do care about the bickering of political parties. I do care about social classes and accessibility of clean water. I do care about unacceptable standards of living and the effects of tourism on Tanzania. I may be a transplant, but it doesn’t take long for a new organ to accept the blood flow and work effectively to build the body.

So you’re a transplant?

Yes. My real question then: how might the life of a transplant positively contribute to the lives and society of a temporary environment, rather than simply my personal self-betterment? Any suggestions?