One piece of wisdom you may never have been taught is that long skirts and squat toilets are not a good combination. Our female students have been very good about wearing lovely long skirts, but this morning when four were sick with some sort of intestinal bug, they all showed up as usual at Kundayo because here they have access to western style toilets. As one said, "The last thing you want to deal with when you feel like this is one squat toilet for the whole household." Because there was an exam scheduled for this morning, I was somewhat suspicious of this sudden plague at first, but as I watched the students lying flat on the sofas or sofa cushions and sleeping hour after hour--except for frequent trips to the WC--I sensed how miserable they really were.
In the afternoon, when the majority of the group went to the Arusha Declaration Museum to learn more about Julius Nyerere and the years of Ujamaa (http://www.mydestination.com/tanzania/things-to-do/124928/arusha-declaration-museum), I stayed with the sick students and did what I could to make sure they stayed hydrated and ate small amounts of yogurt and toast. By the time the students returned from their museum visit, the four who had stayed here were awake and looking if not good, maybe better. We certainly want everyone fit for the transition to Zanzibar this Saturday, so those who are sick need to recover, and those of us who have remained healthy need to stay healthy. We haven't identified any common source for whatever is causing this illness since those affected live in different households.
This morning, I managed to fall back to sleep after the usual pentacostal wake-up concert, but then I was awakened again by the sound of a baby next door. Since I hadn't seen any baby the day before or noticed anyone checking in, I was curious. It didn't take me very long to find our that a Danish women, perhaps in her 30s, and her 20-month-old son were are new neighbors. Later in conversation, I also found out that she is a correspondent for some Danish publication, and East and Southern Africa is the area she covers. She told me her name, which sounded something like "Karnitz," and her son's name, which is "Elfie" for short of whatever it really is. Then she told me how it happened that they moved into Kundayo during the night. She is now based here in Arusha and had been renting a small house in the back of a compound owned by a Masai woman, a widow. However, as is very common in this area, the male relatives were extremely unhappy that the wife had inherited property from her husband, and trouble brewed. One of these men--perhaps the woman's own son--showed up in the night and poured gasoline all over the houses and was about to torch the whole compound when he was caught, just in time, by the night watchman. At that point, Karnitz grabbed her son and whatever else she could and fled to Kundayo. Now, she has found another house to rent but will need to stay here for several weeks until she can move in. I regret that we are leaving tomorrow, as I would like to find out much more about her and what she actually covers in her reporting.
If you want to learn more about the legal problems widows have in this region go to this website: http://www.inherityourrights.org/ A young woman from Spokane, Jana Harding, is one of the co-founders, and two of our students will be interning there in March.
Friday, January 31, 2014
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Last Week in Arusha, January 27 - 29
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| Kundayo Road. Nicer houses are in walled compounds. |
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| Small dukas (shops) are set along the road. |
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| A fruit stand near the road. |
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| John's barber shop and a sign for the church that wakes us up around 5:30 every morning. |
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| Workers adding a cement walk along a house. |
This week has progressed so normally that there is little for me to write that would be very interesting or noteworthy. The student with the sore throat worried us through Tuesday, but her host family took special care of her, and Megan accompanied her to a Probably-Not-A-Doctor's office for examination and testing--for malaria of all things--and today the student felt well enough to come for the study day. She still looks pretty fragile, but she's definitely on the mend and has a great spirit. All the stomach problems seem to have disappeared as well, though things like that can always pop up again.
During my years in the Congo, I got hepatitis, malaria, and some sort of flesh-eating bacteria, but this is definitely not the Congo, and life here is comparatively very modern and sanitary. In fact, I have never been really sick in Africa in all the many years following my time in the Congo.
Today, the students had a study day, and it was very instructive to notice the difference between the serious and the...well, not so serious. I went out to the terrace to read and noticed that while some students were busily reading, making noted, and discussing the material covered in Core 350, others were Skyping, texting, and laughing and generally messing around. Somewhat surprising to me, one of the students who was not studying at all was one who has talked with John about how she can get an A. Apparently, she thinks she should be given an A, not earn an A. Tomorrow's test will help to separate the wheat from the chaff. These are all very good young adults, but some have a lot more growing up to do to become mature, independent adults.
Because I have been in Africa so often and this is my second time with this program in Tanzania, I realize that I do not have the constant zing of noticing new scenes, events, and people. So much is familiar that it seems normal to me now. I envy the students who find everything unfamiliar and therefore amazing, foreboding, comical, or fascinating. Even Megan is more attune to what is particular or peculiar in our surroundings than I am anymore. This afternoon, she was telling me how upset and angry she feels sometimes at the inefficiency or ineptitude one can see in Africa, and I realized that a those are the things that make me laugh. Really. How else should one react to things that are so bizarrely snafued that nothing can improve them? And, aren't there things at home that are exactly as messed up? Chill and deal with it is my advice.
Almost every evening I do a little laundry--in a plastic bucket with cold water. It takes a long time to get even a small amount adequately washed and rinsed well. Then, I hang as much as I can on the frame for our mosquito netting or drape it over our bed frame. With the fan on, almost everything dries overnight. I draw a line with John's trousers, however, and send them to Kundayo's laundry service which by American standards is not expensive but in the context here seems like a luxury. Some of the students have helped with the hand washing at their host families and are getting a good understanding of the level of labor involved in house-keeping here. African husbands do not help with cooking, cleaning, or any other household chores including childcare, so women work very, very hard. It is for this reason that women who work outside their homes in any type of profession have dadas, usually uneducated village girls, live in to help with all the work.
It's been extremely difficult for me to get online and into this website, so I think that I will resort to some show-and-tell of our environment here at Kundayo.
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| John in the door of our unit |
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| Maso, our landlord |
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| Megan Hershey |
Now, I'll show you my super-duper laundry facilities.
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| My washing machine |
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| My clothesline |
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Weekend with Students, Part 2, January 26, 2014
Since the students have been staying at Kundayo for the past two nights, John and I could have joined them in the big breakfast of fruit, toast, fruit juice (actually more like smoothies), and eggs, we have chosen to stay in our apartment and eat our usual bowls of WeetaBix. I slice a banana on top of my cereal, but John eats it plain. In the past, I have sneered at Weetabix as being a soggy substitute for shredded wheat, but now I have come to accept it as an okay-enough quick breakfast.
After breakfast, everyone headed for church. Ray came to pick me up, but John, Megan and the students walked to the Kimandolu Lutheran Church, which is less than a kilometer away from Kundayo. Of course we had to sit up near the front, and then later in the service we were not only acknowleged but also asked to walk up front for words of welcome. Fortunately, Megan speaks Swahili well enough that she could respond and express our pleasure at being with the congregation for the morning. Once again the service involved a lot of sung call and response liturgy, which is enjoyable to listen to even if one cannot understand the words. We had warned our students about the multiple offerings, but after the first one, Ray said we should just stay seated for offerings 2 and 3. It was communion Sunday, so we all joined the throngs as they approached and knelt at the alter railing.
No matter what one's beliefs might be, I think everyone felt a special inner awe at being included as part of a very different group of people.
For those of you who are wondering about how the sacrament was served, let me say there was no common cup as is often the case in Africa. The pastor glided by and served the wafers, and close behind him came the liturgist with the wine in little individual plastic cups, which were then collected by another lady following right behind him. It was incredibly efficient and approximately 500 people were quickly served. And it was real wine, which was an extra spiritual jolt for some of the students.
After the service, there was the usual auction of fresh eggs and vegetables that had been given as offerings. I was glad that the students got to see this, as it is so different from what they would ever see at home. I'm hoping that in March, when we go to the Masai area, someone will bring a sheep or goat to church as they did in 2012. There is nothing like livestock in church to get the students in an ecstatic spiritual state.
On the return trip from church, Ray announced that not only were John and I invited to his mother's house at 2:00 p.m. but so were all the students. Unfortunately, the students did not appreciate the importance and honor of such an invitation, and only two agreed to go. They others said it wasn't on their schedule, and they needed to study. Had I been the one in charge, I would have ordered them to go because I knew that a whole lot of time and expense would have been put into preparing such a an event for wazungu. We Americans are too culturally stuck to time and schedule to accept an invitation when it comes T what we call "the last minute." So, in the end, only John and I, and two students went to a huge family gathering and lavish feast prepared for all 16 of us. I was very embarrassed, but did what I could to show great appreciation and make the best of things by taking numerous photos which I will have printed for the family.
The two students who had accompanied us to Ray's house needed to return to Kundayo about 4:00 p.m. so their host families could pick them up for the night, but John and I stayed for several more hours, having a great time visiting and enjoying all the children running about the compound. On the ride to the mother's house, I had lost all sense of direction and location as we drove to the house, as we made numerous turns into very bumpy dirt streets and passed all sorts of walled compounds and courtyards. It's difficult to envision how closed and similar residential streets can look when there are walls creating a type of cinder block tunnel through which vehicles must maneuver. I still have no idea where we were, but in spite of what seemed to be a totally chaotic, dusty web of narrow streets leading to nowhere, we eventually reached the correct gate and entered a very tidy courtyard and a pleasant house with the usual overstuffed furniture covered with fancy cushions and decorative needlework. This extended family of seven sons and three daughters have done well for themselves and their mama.
By the time John and I returned to Kundayo, all the students had gone back to their host families, and peace reigned once again. Except, two of the girls who were not feeling well stayed on for the night.
We hope that the student with an upset stomach and the one with a sore throat will recover soon.
After breakfast, everyone headed for church. Ray came to pick me up, but John, Megan and the students walked to the Kimandolu Lutheran Church, which is less than a kilometer away from Kundayo. Of course we had to sit up near the front, and then later in the service we were not only acknowleged but also asked to walk up front for words of welcome. Fortunately, Megan speaks Swahili well enough that she could respond and express our pleasure at being with the congregation for the morning. Once again the service involved a lot of sung call and response liturgy, which is enjoyable to listen to even if one cannot understand the words. We had warned our students about the multiple offerings, but after the first one, Ray said we should just stay seated for offerings 2 and 3. It was communion Sunday, so we all joined the throngs as they approached and knelt at the alter railing.
No matter what one's beliefs might be, I think everyone felt a special inner awe at being included as part of a very different group of people.
For those of you who are wondering about how the sacrament was served, let me say there was no common cup as is often the case in Africa. The pastor glided by and served the wafers, and close behind him came the liturgist with the wine in little individual plastic cups, which were then collected by another lady following right behind him. It was incredibly efficient and approximately 500 people were quickly served. And it was real wine, which was an extra spiritual jolt for some of the students.
After the service, there was the usual auction of fresh eggs and vegetables that had been given as offerings. I was glad that the students got to see this, as it is so different from what they would ever see at home. I'm hoping that in March, when we go to the Masai area, someone will bring a sheep or goat to church as they did in 2012. There is nothing like livestock in church to get the students in an ecstatic spiritual state.
On the return trip from church, Ray announced that not only were John and I invited to his mother's house at 2:00 p.m. but so were all the students. Unfortunately, the students did not appreciate the importance and honor of such an invitation, and only two agreed to go. They others said it wasn't on their schedule, and they needed to study. Had I been the one in charge, I would have ordered them to go because I knew that a whole lot of time and expense would have been put into preparing such a an event for wazungu. We Americans are too culturally stuck to time and schedule to accept an invitation when it comes T what we call "the last minute." So, in the end, only John and I, and two students went to a huge family gathering and lavish feast prepared for all 16 of us. I was very embarrassed, but did what I could to show great appreciation and make the best of things by taking numerous photos which I will have printed for the family.
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| Front: Priscilla, Goodluck, & Anita Back: Grandmother, Ray's Wife, Ray, & Me |
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| Mtui Cousins |
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| Ray Enjoying Dinner |
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| Ray's Mother (Bibi) |
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| Showing John the Garden |
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| Cousins |
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| Women Cooking -- Of Course |
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| Student with Children |
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| Bibi and her Children |
We hope that the student with an upset stomach and the one with a sore throat will recover soon.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Weekend with Students, Part 1, January 24 & 25
Note: Originally, I had intended to write a blog post which included the whole weekend, from the evening of January 24 through the day of January 26. However, due to the maddening uncertainty of the internet the past two days, I haven't been able to gain access to this blog or my photos for most of the time. So, we'll get through the main news of Friday and Saturday and leave Sunday for a following post.
It's Sunday evening and both my body and brain feel drained. There has been too much sensory overload and energy demand. The students stayed here with us at Kundayo from Friday morning until this afternoon to make it easier to keep our Saturday field trip schedule and give their host families a break. For me, it felt pretty much as if 12 children had returned home for a weekend and were having a big boisterous family reunion. These are really wonderful young people, so I was surprised how much it felt as if my private space was not only being invaded but actually hijacked. I must have a really selfish private core deep inside somewhere to begrudge any of this group free play at Kundayo--especially since we get to eat excellent buffets with them at lunch and dinner while they are here.
Friday was a really ordinary day, with classes in the morning and free time in the afternoon. The students were supposed to be working on their first Core 350 paper, but I think most of them went off to explore more of Arusha. Quite frankly, I believe that was the better choice for their eduction. John and I decided to go out to Njiro, a nearby suburb where a lot of fairly wealthy foreigners live. The major draw for us was the worn and faded, sunset pink stuccoed "mall" with its two-storey horseshoe of shops, some of which are vacant and none of which seem very prosperous. Even the grocery store with its shelves of European chocolates, jars of Indian curries, and British biscuits and condiments of all sorts did not have the Kraft macaroni and cheese and American breakfast cereals that had amused us in 2012. I had hoped to be wonderfully surprised by an economic upsurge and new shops, but except for a couple of restaurants, most businesses looked even sadder than before. Only the fact that we could get dishes of real ice cream redeemed the potential waste of taxi fare.
Saturday was a day of nonstop activity, with two major destinations and the passing sights and smells of all the shops, markets, pedestrians, goats, and roasted corn stands along the way. Our first stop was at the African Cultural Heritage Museum, an impressive conglomerate of restaurants, specialty shops, outdoor concrete animals, and a huge modern building that has the appearance of a great art museum, except every stature, mask, painting, and artifact in it is for sale. (http://www.culturalheritage.co.tz/) The collection is, of course, always changing, but the core of genuinely old pieces is very worth seeing. John gets a bit bothered by some of the mislabeling of where pieces come from, but I doubt that the wealthy collectors in Texas and New York care all that much about true origin. The main shop in this compound has perhaps the largest supply of Tanzanite in Arusha, with many of the polished stones going for tens of thousands of dollars. We were even shown one that had a value of half a million, and when we asked who buys such stones, the answer was once again wealthy Texans.
When we left the ACHM we drove a short way and entered into Shanga Shangaa, which literally means "beads awesome." (shanga.org) It's part of a place called River House and employees 44 handicapped persons who create a variety of crafts for sale in the gift shop and online all over the world. A main part of the work is the recycling of beer and wine bottles into glass beads for jewelry and and blown glass bowls, wine glasses, etc. I love watching the glass blowers at work as well as picking up an occasional discarded glob of glass that has been tossed aside and become part of the ground cover between the shops. After a short tour of the workshop area, we all went onto the lawn and sat around low tables on cushioned sofas, where we were served juice or champagne while we waited to go to the lunch buffet.
I was feeling at one with the green serene grass and huge trees until someone shrieked, "Monkey! There's a monkey in that tree." Immediately, the students were up and running with their cameras pointed up at a tree in which there was not only a monkey, but--big shriek coming again--a mother monkey holding a little baby. One student who noticed my incredulity at their outburst reminded me that this was their first monkey sighting and that they were naturally very excited. It was only after several more monkeys showed up to scope out their prospects for treats that our group began to calm down. Once we were called to our table for the buffet, all attention shifted to the exotic setting in the open air restaurant and the salads, zucchini fritters, beans, and grilled meat. The dessert was an assortment of tidbits in little blown glass bowls set in a wooden stand.
After lunch, the students went on a tour of the Burka Coffee Farm. I stayed behind to check out the Shanga gift shop, where I found much less merchandise than had been there in 2012. Had I wanted hand-blown glassware, beautiful blown bowls, or glass bead necklaces and bracelets, there would have been plenty to choose from, but I was more interested in smaller items and different types of crafts. Finally, I settled on a tiny green vase in which I can put small flowers. I'm not sure that any of the students bought anything, as the prices were fairly high. However, since the items for sale are made by handicapped people who would be without work otherwise, I don't mind paying for something I really like and can use.
It was after 4:00 p.m. when we all got back on our bus and return into town. The bus made a stop at Shop Rite so that anyone who needed more bottled water or other snacks could buy them. I have developed more and more antipathy toward Shop Rite, so I walked over to a stretch of nearby shops and explored what was being offered for sale. The seafood market was the most interesting to me, but I wasn't going to bring anything back to Kundayo since once again, we would be eating with the students. Finally, I crossed over to a little gelato shop and got some coconut ice cream. It was definitely excellent. Ice cream shops are not prevalent, so I was pleased to have found one with good ice cream.
Everyone was too tired to do much after we had had dinner, though I heard that some of the girls baked cookies. It's interesting to me how much we need to bring home close through food. I cook so many African stews regularly at home that the diet here seems very normal to me. In Zanzibar there will be a much greater difference, especially in the prevalence of seafood and stews made with coconut stew. I'm looking forward to that!
It's Sunday evening and both my body and brain feel drained. There has been too much sensory overload and energy demand. The students stayed here with us at Kundayo from Friday morning until this afternoon to make it easier to keep our Saturday field trip schedule and give their host families a break. For me, it felt pretty much as if 12 children had returned home for a weekend and were having a big boisterous family reunion. These are really wonderful young people, so I was surprised how much it felt as if my private space was not only being invaded but actually hijacked. I must have a really selfish private core deep inside somewhere to begrudge any of this group free play at Kundayo--especially since we get to eat excellent buffets with them at lunch and dinner while they are here.
Friday was a really ordinary day, with classes in the morning and free time in the afternoon. The students were supposed to be working on their first Core 350 paper, but I think most of them went off to explore more of Arusha. Quite frankly, I believe that was the better choice for their eduction. John and I decided to go out to Njiro, a nearby suburb where a lot of fairly wealthy foreigners live. The major draw for us was the worn and faded, sunset pink stuccoed "mall" with its two-storey horseshoe of shops, some of which are vacant and none of which seem very prosperous. Even the grocery store with its shelves of European chocolates, jars of Indian curries, and British biscuits and condiments of all sorts did not have the Kraft macaroni and cheese and American breakfast cereals that had amused us in 2012. I had hoped to be wonderfully surprised by an economic upsurge and new shops, but except for a couple of restaurants, most businesses looked even sadder than before. Only the fact that we could get dishes of real ice cream redeemed the potential waste of taxi fare.
Saturday was a day of nonstop activity, with two major destinations and the passing sights and smells of all the shops, markets, pedestrians, goats, and roasted corn stands along the way. Our first stop was at the African Cultural Heritage Museum, an impressive conglomerate of restaurants, specialty shops, outdoor concrete animals, and a huge modern building that has the appearance of a great art museum, except every stature, mask, painting, and artifact in it is for sale. (http://www.culturalheritage.co.tz/) The collection is, of course, always changing, but the core of genuinely old pieces is very worth seeing. John gets a bit bothered by some of the mislabeling of where pieces come from, but I doubt that the wealthy collectors in Texas and New York care all that much about true origin. The main shop in this compound has perhaps the largest supply of Tanzanite in Arusha, with many of the polished stones going for tens of thousands of dollars. We were even shown one that had a value of half a million, and when we asked who buys such stones, the answer was once again wealthy Texans.
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| These stones are only worth several 100 dollars each. |
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| These stones range in price from $30K to $40K. |
I was feeling at one with the green serene grass and huge trees until someone shrieked, "Monkey! There's a monkey in that tree." Immediately, the students were up and running with their cameras pointed up at a tree in which there was not only a monkey, but--big shriek coming again--a mother monkey holding a little baby. One student who noticed my incredulity at their outburst reminded me that this was their first monkey sighting and that they were naturally very excited. It was only after several more monkeys showed up to scope out their prospects for treats that our group began to calm down. Once we were called to our table for the buffet, all attention shifted to the exotic setting in the open air restaurant and the salads, zucchini fritters, beans, and grilled meat. The dessert was an assortment of tidbits in little blown glass bowls set in a wooden stand.
It was after 4:00 p.m. when we all got back on our bus and return into town. The bus made a stop at Shop Rite so that anyone who needed more bottled water or other snacks could buy them. I have developed more and more antipathy toward Shop Rite, so I walked over to a stretch of nearby shops and explored what was being offered for sale. The seafood market was the most interesting to me, but I wasn't going to bring anything back to Kundayo since once again, we would be eating with the students. Finally, I crossed over to a little gelato shop and got some coconut ice cream. It was definitely excellent. Ice cream shops are not prevalent, so I was pleased to have found one with good ice cream.
Everyone was too tired to do much after we had had dinner, though I heard that some of the girls baked cookies. It's interesting to me how much we need to bring home close through food. I cook so many African stews regularly at home that the diet here seems very normal to me. In Zanzibar there will be a much greater difference, especially in the prevalence of seafood and stews made with coconut stew. I'm looking forward to that!
Friday, January 24, 2014
Bathroom and Birthdays, January 23, 2014
Last night, I had my first really warm, almost hot, shower since we arrived here. Twice before the water had gotten warmish, but that was after I had done some hand washing and John had taken his shower. Getting really as-in-America hot water rarely happens here and will never ever happen next month in Zanzibar. The good thing, however, is that after the initial shock of the cold spray, the coolness feels refreshing. In Zanzibar, a cold shower is the only way we have to escape from the extreme heat and humidity--unless we go to one of the very upscale tourist hotels and buy a super expensive drink so we can sit and linger in their air conditioning. But, last night, I reveled in the hot water and stood and sprayed for a long, long time.
Our bathroom at Kundayo is a strange little L-shaped space off the short hall between the kitchen and our bedroom. It is completely tiled in shiny, white tiles, and the shower is a simple hand-held shower head hooked onto the back wall. There is no separate shower stall, so the entire room gets wet, including the toilet paper, unless one is very careful with aim.
The first night we were here, I had forgotten how slick the bathroom floor becomes when it is wet and didn't wear my water slippers while showering. On my way out of the bathroom, I slipped and slid like a surfing porpoise right out of the room and down the three tiled steps leading up to the room. Both John and I were stunned, but upon careful examination, we decided that nothing was broken; however, I did develop a stunning series of bruises down my left arm and across my back. Now, I make certain that I always have my garish black and neon pink water slippers on before showering.
Because, unlike the group in 2012, this group eats lunch here with us every weekday, John and I count the lunch buffet as our main daily meal and do very little shopping and cooking compared to what we did two years ago. I enjoy the extra free time, but I also miss the thrill of going to the produce market and Kijenge Supermarket and finding out what may be for sale.
The lunch buffet always has a couple salads--usually with tomatoes, cucumbers, or avocados-- two types of starch--rice, ugali, and/or potatoes--two choices of meat or meat stew, two choices of vegetables--carrots and green beans are in season now--and a fresh tropical fruit salad for dessert. The lunch is very ample and very healthy if one chooses well. If any of the students are having any problem with the food cooked by their host mother, they can make up for it with their lunch here.
Usually for our evening meal, John and I make sandwiches and then have some yogurt and maybe fruit salad. John loves his mix of pineapple, mangoes, and bananas. I am partial to the yogurt, made in Kenya, which is in between our regular and Greek yogurt in its consistency. If it weren't so expensive, I'd eat much more of it.
For some reason, we have not been using our mosquito net at night. We always put it down at night in 2012, but without any discussion, we have chosen not to do so now. There are relatively few mosquitoes here at the moment, and, in this area of Arusha, very few carry malaria. So, even though I've had malaria (in the Congo) and know how awful it can be, I'm only relying on my malaria prophylactic to keep me safe.
You may note that I use the frame for the mosquito netting as my clothesline and the fan as my dryer--when the electricity is on.
One of the main events of yesterday was Grant's 21st birthday. We all had signed a card for him, and Megan had purchased a very sweet marble loaf cake and candles. Everyone sang "Happy Birthday," and Grant looked genuinely surprised and pleased. I thought about his mother though and had a pang of regret that she wasn't here to help us celebrate.
It was also Priscilla's 12th birthday, which I hadn't known about before we came, so I hadn't brought along a special gift for her. Fortunately I had packed two Connect 4 games, so I put one of those in a nice green STCU string bag and then called Ray to stop by and pick it all up. I hope Priscilla likes the game and/or the string bag, and perhaps she will have fun playing Connect 4 with Goodluck and her cousins. I'll find out more when we see them again at church on Sunday and also go with them to their grandmother's house in the afternoon.
Our bathroom at Kundayo is a strange little L-shaped space off the short hall between the kitchen and our bedroom. It is completely tiled in shiny, white tiles, and the shower is a simple hand-held shower head hooked onto the back wall. There is no separate shower stall, so the entire room gets wet, including the toilet paper, unless one is very careful with aim.
The first night we were here, I had forgotten how slick the bathroom floor becomes when it is wet and didn't wear my water slippers while showering. On my way out of the bathroom, I slipped and slid like a surfing porpoise right out of the room and down the three tiled steps leading up to the room. Both John and I were stunned, but upon careful examination, we decided that nothing was broken; however, I did develop a stunning series of bruises down my left arm and across my back. Now, I make certain that I always have my garish black and neon pink water slippers on before showering.
Because, unlike the group in 2012, this group eats lunch here with us every weekday, John and I count the lunch buffet as our main daily meal and do very little shopping and cooking compared to what we did two years ago. I enjoy the extra free time, but I also miss the thrill of going to the produce market and Kijenge Supermarket and finding out what may be for sale.
The lunch buffet always has a couple salads--usually with tomatoes, cucumbers, or avocados-- two types of starch--rice, ugali, and/or potatoes--two choices of meat or meat stew, two choices of vegetables--carrots and green beans are in season now--and a fresh tropical fruit salad for dessert. The lunch is very ample and very healthy if one chooses well. If any of the students are having any problem with the food cooked by their host mother, they can make up for it with their lunch here.
Usually for our evening meal, John and I make sandwiches and then have some yogurt and maybe fruit salad. John loves his mix of pineapple, mangoes, and bananas. I am partial to the yogurt, made in Kenya, which is in between our regular and Greek yogurt in its consistency. If it weren't so expensive, I'd eat much more of it.
For some reason, we have not been using our mosquito net at night. We always put it down at night in 2012, but without any discussion, we have chosen not to do so now. There are relatively few mosquitoes here at the moment, and, in this area of Arusha, very few carry malaria. So, even though I've had malaria (in the Congo) and know how awful it can be, I'm only relying on my malaria prophylactic to keep me safe.
One of the main events of yesterday was Grant's 21st birthday. We all had signed a card for him, and Megan had purchased a very sweet marble loaf cake and candles. Everyone sang "Happy Birthday," and Grant looked genuinely surprised and pleased. I thought about his mother though and had a pang of regret that she wasn't here to help us celebrate.
It was also Priscilla's 12th birthday, which I hadn't known about before we came, so I hadn't brought along a special gift for her. Fortunately I had packed two Connect 4 games, so I put one of those in a nice green STCU string bag and then called Ray to stop by and pick it all up. I hope Priscilla likes the game and/or the string bag, and perhaps she will have fun playing Connect 4 with Goodluck and her cousins. I'll find out more when we see them again at church on Sunday and also go with them to their grandmother's house in the afternoon.
Thursday, January 23, 2014
EAC and Erik, Wednesday, January 22, 2014
This morning, John and Megan took the students into town for a visit to the East African Community's offices. John had arranged for a tour and presentation for our group. The EAC offices have been moved since we were here in 2012 and are now housed in a beautiful modern building built, paid for, and largely budgeted by the Germans. That alone tells one how precarious this union of five countries ( Tanzania, Kenya, Uganda, Rwanda, and Burundi) may actually be although the countries involved are now cooperating on the movement of labor, tariffs, and common market, and they are working toward a monetary union, and finally--I'd say maybe or never--a political federation. The students said the presentation was excellent, and it was apparent that they recognized that they had gotten a glimpse of a part of East African development they had been totally unaware of before.
I stayed at Kundayo during the morning, but took a taxi downtown to the Naz Hotel at about 11:30, so I could join the group for the Naz's lunch buffet. The Naz cuisine is Indian, so there were entrees for both meat eaters and vegetarians, as well as salads and platters of fresh fruit. The Naz is one of John's favorite places to eat in Arusha, and the students gave it a thumbs up as well. Most of the students were thoroughly distracted by the various choice of Fanta, with the favorite flavors being pineapple and passion fruit. I myself am very, very fond of passion fruit Fanta but stuck to water for our meal. John usually chooses to drink Stoney Tangawisi, a ginger beverage not available in the States.
While in almost all ways this is an excellent group of young adults--19 to 21 years old--they still seem unaware of how it must look to Tanzanians when they leave large amounts of uneaten food on their plates. I was especially taken aback by this yesterday because they were at a buffet where they
had complete control over what they chose and the amounts they took. Apparently, in our first world lives wasting food isn't something to which we pay much attention, but in a developing country such as Tanzania such waste must be incomprehensible. And, without meaning to, our students must project an air of arrogance and privilege when they do this. Obviously, John and Megan need to speak with the students about this again. It's not that these students are uncaring; they are simply unaware.
Once lunch was over, the students went across the street to check out the ice cream shop there, and John and I walked about three blocks to the Lutheran Bookstore, which I think is the best in Arusha. I love to look at all the books there and usually find amazing publications. One of the best yesterday was entitled something like "50 Things a Gentleman Should Know." The very first page I saw inside proclaimed as a Don't: It is not polite to pass gas when you are at the table with others even if you say "Excuse me." The Do was: Wait until you can step outside to pass gas. I didn't get to read more as the store has extremely narrow aisle around the tables of books and people kept needing to get past me. I decided that my Don't was: Do not clog the aisle while reading in a bookstore, especially if the text makes you snort with laughter. The Do then was buying a Lutheran hymnal which has the liturgy in Swahili, a notebook made in China which proclaims in English "My life is feel so nice," and a couple of touristy postcards.
Then while John took the students for an afternoon visit to Habari Node, the largest internet provider in Arusha, I held court on the front veranda of the New Safari Hotel, my favorite people-watching post in Arusha. One of the founders and partners of Habari Node is Erik Lowberg, who is originally from the Spokane Valley and has been here for maybe 30 years, even before the end of Ujama. First, he had a brick making business, which is still ongoing, but at the end of Ujama, when businesses were no longer nationalized, Erik and a partner began working with computer networks, and now Habari Node employees 70 Tanzanians who operate all levels of the business. Erik is the only non-African in the company, and his ultimate goal is to transfer all the shares to the Tanzanian management. John's goal in taking students to visit such an enterprise is that the students will see that Africa is not all about orphanages and starving children.* Those do exist, just as we have the poor and homeless in the States, but Africa--and Tanzania in particular--is quickly developing and has enormous opportunities for investment. [http://www.habari.co.tz/]
*In fact this program does not take the students to a single orphanage.
After the students left Habari Node, John and Erik walked to meet me at the New Safari Hotel, and we had a nice time chatting about common connections and experiences in Spokane and people we all knew. Erik surprised me by saying he had once dated Carol Cook(e), who was a chaplain's assistant at Whitworth back in the early 1980s. I have a vivid memory of Carol being harassed by the Chuck E Cheese mascot rat at a birthday party being held in my honor. However, I have now lost contact with her, so if any reader knows where she is, I would appreciate being told. Erik has since married a Tanzanian woman who works for World Vision.
The evening was routine, except that instead of a peanut butter and jam sandwich, I had sardines on toast. I love sardines, so even though they are quite expensive here, I treated myself to a little tin of them in tomato sauce. It's odd how one's idea of a special treat changes with place and circumstances.
I stayed at Kundayo during the morning, but took a taxi downtown to the Naz Hotel at about 11:30, so I could join the group for the Naz's lunch buffet. The Naz cuisine is Indian, so there were entrees for both meat eaters and vegetarians, as well as salads and platters of fresh fruit. The Naz is one of John's favorite places to eat in Arusha, and the students gave it a thumbs up as well. Most of the students were thoroughly distracted by the various choice of Fanta, with the favorite flavors being pineapple and passion fruit. I myself am very, very fond of passion fruit Fanta but stuck to water for our meal. John usually chooses to drink Stoney Tangawisi, a ginger beverage not available in the States.
While in almost all ways this is an excellent group of young adults--19 to 21 years old--they still seem unaware of how it must look to Tanzanians when they leave large amounts of uneaten food on their plates. I was especially taken aback by this yesterday because they were at a buffet where they
had complete control over what they chose and the amounts they took. Apparently, in our first world lives wasting food isn't something to which we pay much attention, but in a developing country such as Tanzania such waste must be incomprehensible. And, without meaning to, our students must project an air of arrogance and privilege when they do this. Obviously, John and Megan need to speak with the students about this again. It's not that these students are uncaring; they are simply unaware.
Once lunch was over, the students went across the street to check out the ice cream shop there, and John and I walked about three blocks to the Lutheran Bookstore, which I think is the best in Arusha. I love to look at all the books there and usually find amazing publications. One of the best yesterday was entitled something like "50 Things a Gentleman Should Know." The very first page I saw inside proclaimed as a Don't: It is not polite to pass gas when you are at the table with others even if you say "Excuse me." The Do was: Wait until you can step outside to pass gas. I didn't get to read more as the store has extremely narrow aisle around the tables of books and people kept needing to get past me. I decided that my Don't was: Do not clog the aisle while reading in a bookstore, especially if the text makes you snort with laughter. The Do then was buying a Lutheran hymnal which has the liturgy in Swahili, a notebook made in China which proclaims in English "My life is feel so nice," and a couple of touristy postcards.
Then while John took the students for an afternoon visit to Habari Node, the largest internet provider in Arusha, I held court on the front veranda of the New Safari Hotel, my favorite people-watching post in Arusha. One of the founders and partners of Habari Node is Erik Lowberg, who is originally from the Spokane Valley and has been here for maybe 30 years, even before the end of Ujama. First, he had a brick making business, which is still ongoing, but at the end of Ujama, when businesses were no longer nationalized, Erik and a partner began working with computer networks, and now Habari Node employees 70 Tanzanians who operate all levels of the business. Erik is the only non-African in the company, and his ultimate goal is to transfer all the shares to the Tanzanian management. John's goal in taking students to visit such an enterprise is that the students will see that Africa is not all about orphanages and starving children.* Those do exist, just as we have the poor and homeless in the States, but Africa--and Tanzania in particular--is quickly developing and has enormous opportunities for investment. [http://www.habari.co.tz/]
*In fact this program does not take the students to a single orphanage.
After the students left Habari Node, John and Erik walked to meet me at the New Safari Hotel, and we had a nice time chatting about common connections and experiences in Spokane and people we all knew. Erik surprised me by saying he had once dated Carol Cook(e), who was a chaplain's assistant at Whitworth back in the early 1980s. I have a vivid memory of Carol being harassed by the Chuck E Cheese mascot rat at a birthday party being held in my honor. However, I have now lost contact with her, so if any reader knows where she is, I would appreciate being told. Erik has since married a Tanzanian woman who works for World Vision.
The evening was routine, except that instead of a peanut butter and jam sandwich, I had sardines on toast. I love sardines, so even though they are quite expensive here, I treated myself to a little tin of them in tomato sauce. It's odd how one's idea of a special treat changes with place and circumstances.
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Old Friends, January 21, 2014
Wonder of wonders, I woke up and felt almost cold. The cloudy sky and occasional showers had cleaned the ubiquitous dust and bus fumes out of the air, and though I never did find out the exact temperature, it was definitely lower. It was such a relief to feel on the edge of shivers instead of the having the usual sticky clothes and damp hair. Not, that this would last for long, but even a few hours in the morning were enough to refresh me in body and spirit.
In the morning, Moses Pulei, a former Whitworth student, came to talk to the students about the history of Christianity in Africa. He had returned to Whitworth at the end of his doctoral program to teach for several years in the Theology Department, but then decided to return and work in Tanzania. Since he is Masai, I never know if I should identify him as Kenyan or Tanzanian, as Masai traditionally travel back and forth with their cattle. When he arrived at Whitworth, I was designated as his faculty adviser, so I have known him for almost 30 years and always marvel at the truly remarkable person he has become. He keeps his identity as a Masai by owning a large herd of cattle, but he has improved his herd with a bull flown in from Australia. While he was online watching the championship game between the Seahawks and 49ers, he was also talking on the phone with his good friend Mike Holmgren. He has spoken at the Millennium Conference, rubbing elbows with the Clintons and other glitterati, and yet he moves effortlessly into village life when he deals with family matters. Since he had just returned from Nairobi, where he had gone for his aunt's funeral, he was able to give us news of another one of our friends, Nicholas Sironka, who is still in Kenya, following his wife's death late last year. After class, as Moses, John and I spent several hours sharing lunch and sodas together, I felt amazed and happy that in some unknown cosmic way, my life had intersected with Moses' and continues to be enriched by his friendship.
When we were here last time in 2012, Moses had warned us not to drink the local water even if we boiled it, not because it was extraordinarily polluted but because it contains very high amounts of fluoride. At first, I thought this would be a wonderful countermeasure to Spokane's refusal to add fluoride to our water supply at home, but the sad truth is that too much fluoride causes brown spots on tooth enamel. So, it's very common to see people here in Arusha with teeth that look as if they were heavily painted with prune juice and never brushed completely clean. I haven't discovered yet, however, if the locals lack all dental caries.
The day ended on with a great triumph: I finally mastered the interplay of the two TV clickers and was able to find a Swahili news program. John had been wanting Swahili TV to help him with his listening and speaking skills. Even though I can't really follow the narration very well, I can see that there have been horrific traffic accidents with many deaths. Traffic safety is always one of our greatest worries in Africa. Keep your on with your prayers, chants, and thoughts for our well being.
In the morning, Moses Pulei, a former Whitworth student, came to talk to the students about the history of Christianity in Africa. He had returned to Whitworth at the end of his doctoral program to teach for several years in the Theology Department, but then decided to return and work in Tanzania. Since he is Masai, I never know if I should identify him as Kenyan or Tanzanian, as Masai traditionally travel back and forth with their cattle. When he arrived at Whitworth, I was designated as his faculty adviser, so I have known him for almost 30 years and always marvel at the truly remarkable person he has become. He keeps his identity as a Masai by owning a large herd of cattle, but he has improved his herd with a bull flown in from Australia. While he was online watching the championship game between the Seahawks and 49ers, he was also talking on the phone with his good friend Mike Holmgren. He has spoken at the Millennium Conference, rubbing elbows with the Clintons and other glitterati, and yet he moves effortlessly into village life when he deals with family matters. Since he had just returned from Nairobi, where he had gone for his aunt's funeral, he was able to give us news of another one of our friends, Nicholas Sironka, who is still in Kenya, following his wife's death late last year. After class, as Moses, John and I spent several hours sharing lunch and sodas together, I felt amazed and happy that in some unknown cosmic way, my life had intersected with Moses' and continues to be enriched by his friendship.
When we were here last time in 2012, Moses had warned us not to drink the local water even if we boiled it, not because it was extraordinarily polluted but because it contains very high amounts of fluoride. At first, I thought this would be a wonderful countermeasure to Spokane's refusal to add fluoride to our water supply at home, but the sad truth is that too much fluoride causes brown spots on tooth enamel. So, it's very common to see people here in Arusha with teeth that look as if they were heavily painted with prune juice and never brushed completely clean. I haven't discovered yet, however, if the locals lack all dental caries.
The day ended on with a great triumph: I finally mastered the interplay of the two TV clickers and was able to find a Swahili news program. John had been wanting Swahili TV to help him with his listening and speaking skills. Even though I can't really follow the narration very well, I can see that there have been horrific traffic accidents with many deaths. Traffic safety is always one of our greatest worries in Africa. Keep your on with your prayers, chants, and thoughts for our well being.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Students, January 20, 2014
There was a sizzling undercurrent of anticipation this morning, as it would be the first time that the the students reassembled after a weekend with their host families, and we all wanted to hear what the students would say about their experiences. During the morning class time, each student had an opportunity to report on their experiences from Friday evening through Sunday. Several of the students were taken on a very scenic hike lead by a young trained botanist who pointed out and explained the flora along the way. This group saw lots of wild monkeys and ended up at a beautiful waterfall. Other students attended Pentecostal church services where the music was loud, repetitive, and sometimes lip-synced, and praying and speaking in tongues went on for 3 hours, which is actually a fairly short service for Pentecostals. One host family did not attend church, which is rare in Tanzania. All the students said their host families, especially their mamas, were trying to help them feel comfortable and serving them special food. However, some of the "special" meals such as fish stew or fish soup weren't big hits with the students. And, even though there were some difficulties with maintaining personal space--a very non-African concept--everyone seemed to have coped quite well within a very different cultural context. One student had been sick for a day, a misery which may have been exacerbated by homesickness. All in all, the weekend had been a good time of learning many new things about families, religion, the local area, and Swahili.
I've realized more and more that my experiences in Africa have been completely different from what these students have expected and will experience. I was only 22 the first time we went to live in the Congo, and there was no internet or mobile phones, so we knew the only connection we would have with family and friends back in the States was via very slow and uncertain international mail service. The one time we called home because a family member had died, we had to travel to a major city where there was a post office, hand in the number we wanted to call, and then wait until they made the connection for us and called us into a booth, where at last we could have our conversation. So, it's difficult for me to understand the frantic feelings some have if they cannot maintain constant internet connection with their parents of friends. I want to be sympathetic, but another part of me wants to ask, "How can you find out who you really are and what you are actually capable of if you cannot be by yourself for more than a few hours?" However, even I have gotten soft because I can connect via email, Facebook, and this blog now. Still, I know that I would prefer the past times in Africa when each day was a challenge which I had to face all by myself. That was daunting, but it was also a priceless honing of my sense of self.
(Relaxing between morning classes)
In the afternoon, I had a visit from Elizabeth, an amazing young Masai woman whom I had met in 2012. She was the link through whom our group was able to visit and spend the night in a traditional Masai manyatta. Most unusual was that she was also a student at the University of Dar es Salaam since the Masai are very traditional and do not support the education of their girls. Only after I had returned home to the States did I find out that the reason she was free to take us to her father's home was because her sponsor of many years had been unable to pay the tuition for her final semester of her senior year, and she had not been able to attend her classes and would not be allowed to take her exams and graduate. The thought that after years of struggling to get an education--against her father's wishes--she would be stopped with just one semester to go for her university degree was so unacceptable to me that I immediately wired her the money for her tuition. She literally had only hours to make her payment so she could begin her exams the next week. All semester, she had stood outside classrooms and then copied the notes other students had taken. Miraculously, she not only passed her exams but also graduated with honors. Now, she is employed by an NGO and doing field work with Masai to reduce the prevalence of female genital mutilation. This is one of the most rewarding investments I have ever made, and it came from a happenstance intersection of two very different lives. Maybe I do believe in miracles.
While I was visiting with Elizabeth, the sky darkened and the clouds emptied. It was pouring exactly as we think it should in the tropics, and the deluge slamming on the metal roof was deafening. The students were off walking into town, so I hoped that they were finding shelters from the downpour. However, when they returned, some were fairly wet and instead of being upset by that, they were rejoicing in being cooled and refreshed. Others had been more sensible and stayed dry, but all were happy that the temperature had dropped. I was very, very happy that the night was much cooler than previous nights and that sleeping was finally comfortable.
I've realized more and more that my experiences in Africa have been completely different from what these students have expected and will experience. I was only 22 the first time we went to live in the Congo, and there was no internet or mobile phones, so we knew the only connection we would have with family and friends back in the States was via very slow and uncertain international mail service. The one time we called home because a family member had died, we had to travel to a major city where there was a post office, hand in the number we wanted to call, and then wait until they made the connection for us and called us into a booth, where at last we could have our conversation. So, it's difficult for me to understand the frantic feelings some have if they cannot maintain constant internet connection with their parents of friends. I want to be sympathetic, but another part of me wants to ask, "How can you find out who you really are and what you are actually capable of if you cannot be by yourself for more than a few hours?" However, even I have gotten soft because I can connect via email, Facebook, and this blog now. Still, I know that I would prefer the past times in Africa when each day was a challenge which I had to face all by myself. That was daunting, but it was also a priceless honing of my sense of self.
In the afternoon, I had a visit from Elizabeth, an amazing young Masai woman whom I had met in 2012. She was the link through whom our group was able to visit and spend the night in a traditional Masai manyatta. Most unusual was that she was also a student at the University of Dar es Salaam since the Masai are very traditional and do not support the education of their girls. Only after I had returned home to the States did I find out that the reason she was free to take us to her father's home was because her sponsor of many years had been unable to pay the tuition for her final semester of her senior year, and she had not been able to attend her classes and would not be allowed to take her exams and graduate. The thought that after years of struggling to get an education--against her father's wishes--she would be stopped with just one semester to go for her university degree was so unacceptable to me that I immediately wired her the money for her tuition. She literally had only hours to make her payment so she could begin her exams the next week. All semester, she had stood outside classrooms and then copied the notes other students had taken. Miraculously, she not only passed her exams but also graduated with honors. Now, she is employed by an NGO and doing field work with Masai to reduce the prevalence of female genital mutilation. This is one of the most rewarding investments I have ever made, and it came from a happenstance intersection of two very different lives. Maybe I do believe in miracles.
While I was visiting with Elizabeth, the sky darkened and the clouds emptied. It was pouring exactly as we think it should in the tropics, and the deluge slamming on the metal roof was deafening. The students were off walking into town, so I hoped that they were finding shelters from the downpour. However, when they returned, some were fairly wet and instead of being upset by that, they were rejoicing in being cooled and refreshed. Others had been more sensible and stayed dry, but all were happy that the temperature had dropped. I was very, very happy that the night was much cooler than previous nights and that sleeping was finally comfortable.
Monday, January 20, 2014
Church and Chicken, Sunday, January 19, 2014
Today, I was very glad that I had brought along one long-sleeved top, not that I needed the warmth, but I did need to wear something other than a tee-shirt to church. If there is anything African women do well, it is dressing to the nines when attending church. In Liberia, I used to feel like a toad in a flower bed as I sat among women in absolutely gorgeous gowns and splendid hats. Things are somewhat less extravagant at most churches in Tanzania, but people do wear the best they have, and most of the women's dresses are lovely. So, I felt a bit like a drab female sparrow when Ray came at 8:45 to drive us to his church which is probably only a kilometer away.
(Kimandolo Lutheran Church)
Ray told us that his three children were waiting for me at church, and when we arrived I was immediately mobbed. Little Anita, age 3, who speaks no English, had me bend down close to her so she could say, "Good morning, Grandmother." What a heart-melting moment. Goodluck, age 9, bounced around and wanted to take photos with my camera, so I have a some interesting compositions of arms and legs. Priscilla, who will be 12 this week, greeted me and then went to stand with some of her cousins and act more grown up, though she kept looking at me and grinning. They have all grown a lot since I last saw them in 2012.
(Goodluck took the last two photos.)
The first service (7:00 to 8:30) was not yet over, so we had a chance to people watch as others gathered in the area in front of the church waiting to enter for the second service. When the congregation began to exit, the choir came out first and then stood to one side, still singing, as the rest of the people exited. It was a nice touch at the ending of the service. Then, the people who had come for the second service, (9:00 to 10:30) began to enter. Ray led John and me clear up toward the front, but I stopped him at the third row, so we were not in the front row. The congregation has been constructing this church for three years now, and though the basic structure is complete, they still do not have the lighting and pews they want eventually. So, we sat in white plastic lawn chairs under light bulbs on wires strung across the sanctuary. John estimated that the sanctuary could hold about 1000, but there weren't that many at the second service, which is smaller than the first, so there were some empty chairs in the side sections. Still, it was an impressive assembly.
Unless one goes to a Pentacostal or maybe a Mennonite church in Africa, the service will be much more liturgical than most Protestant services at home--except for Anglican or some Lutheran services--with a lot of sung responses and even prayers. So, even though we could understand very little of the Swahili, we could enjoy the singing, and especially the music of the three different choirs. The largest choir was composed of bibis (grandmothers), and they sang more traditional church hymns and had a director. The other two groups were smaller and much young. They did traditional African steps and sang contemporary music with a much more distinctive African rhythm and style.
All of the groups filled the sanctuary without any electronic amplification and had a far richer sound than most American church choirs do. Africans take singing seriously and sing with their whole selves in a manner we generally don't even attempt. Little Anita had soon decided that she wanted to sit on my lap during church, so I had the pleasure of her closeness and could watch her as she sang the words of the responses. Obviously, one does not have to be able to read to participate in the service.
The tricky part of any African church service I have attended is the offering. This morning, a couple of white-robed women set up three difference fabric bags--two green and one tan --on a metal frame at the front of the sanctuary. Then as one of the choirs sang, the entire congregation walked forward by rows, starting from the back and put their offerings in the bags. I had no idea which bag was for what purpose, so when it was our row's turn to go forward, I watched where Anita put her little coin and put my offering into the same bag. However, then the women put out another sort of yellowish bag, but I wasn't prepared for another offering and had no more money with me. Fortunately, John was still solvent, so I held onto his arm with one hand and onto Anita with the other, and we marched by and made a second drop.
But, wait, there was more! A large group of people, maybe 30 to 40, gathered up near the alter, but since they didn't kneel for communion, I had no idea what was going on. The pastor talked to them and touched the heads of two of them, but there was no water involved, so I knew it couldn't be a baptism. The group dispersed and as they walked back toward their seats, they all put yet another offering into yet another bag. A few other people stood up and went forward to add to this offering bag, as well. It was all a mystery to me until later in the day, when Maso, the proprietor here at Kundayo, explained that a family had asked for a blessing and that their whole extended family or clan gathered with them and then gave a special offering. I also found out that for the first offering, the green bags were for tithes and the yellow one for other general offerings. The second one-bag offering was for the congregation's contribution to the diocese. I can't imagine any church in Spokane where the members would be willing to walk forward and give their offerings in front of the entire congregation--or give more than once.
And, there was more to come. Just as in 2012 when we were at a Masai church and someone brought a sheep into the church as a gift of thanksgiving, so too this morning several women had placed small bags of things up at the alter. These bags were brought out after all had left the sanctuary and then auctioned off. So, anyone who could not bring an offering of money could bring eggs, vegetables, or fruit and also contribute to the church. The auctioning went too fast for me to follow, or I would have tried to buy the eggs, as they would certainly have been fresher than the ones John bought at the little store down the road. Those floated pretty freely.
We didn't get home until after 11:00, and as Ray dropped us off back here at Kundayo, the children all waved and yelled good-bye. ( Honora, Ray's wife, had gone to the first service, so I didn't get to see her this morning.) John and both remarked that we enjoyed this morning church service far more than the ones at home. The rapt attention of the congregation, the full-hearted participation in singing and liturgy, and the generous giving showed a zeal and dedication that I rarely see at home. John commented that in comparison, our Presbyterian service seems more like a committee meeting. Next Sunday, we will return and take the students with us.
As soon as we got home from church, I put together four chicken thighs, sauted some onions, peeled five plum tomatoes and put everything together with some spices. Once again, I heated up the pot to a bubbling boil and then enclosed it tightly in the Wonderbag. The question was: Would the Wonderbag be able to cook complete pieces of chick as well as it had chopped up veggies and ground beef? Eight hours later we found out that the answer was definitely a strong affirmative. The chicken was perfectly done! I had shown the closed up Wonderbag to Maso, the proprietor here at Kundayo, during the afternoon when he dropped by to visit with John. He was amazed, and said he wanted to go online and read all about it, as it would save a lot of charcoal, gas, and electricity. From my two experience with it, I'd give the Wonderbag a 5-star rating. The problem now is to whom shall I give it when I leave?
Ray told us that his three children were waiting for me at church, and when we arrived I was immediately mobbed. Little Anita, age 3, who speaks no English, had me bend down close to her so she could say, "Good morning, Grandmother." What a heart-melting moment. Goodluck, age 9, bounced around and wanted to take photos with my camera, so I have a some interesting compositions of arms and legs. Priscilla, who will be 12 this week, greeted me and then went to stand with some of her cousins and act more grown up, though she kept looking at me and grinning. They have all grown a lot since I last saw them in 2012.
The first service (7:00 to 8:30) was not yet over, so we had a chance to people watch as others gathered in the area in front of the church waiting to enter for the second service. When the congregation began to exit, the choir came out first and then stood to one side, still singing, as the rest of the people exited. It was a nice touch at the ending of the service. Then, the people who had come for the second service, (9:00 to 10:30) began to enter. Ray led John and me clear up toward the front, but I stopped him at the third row, so we were not in the front row. The congregation has been constructing this church for three years now, and though the basic structure is complete, they still do not have the lighting and pews they want eventually. So, we sat in white plastic lawn chairs under light bulbs on wires strung across the sanctuary. John estimated that the sanctuary could hold about 1000, but there weren't that many at the second service, which is smaller than the first, so there were some empty chairs in the side sections. Still, it was an impressive assembly.
Unless one goes to a Pentacostal or maybe a Mennonite church in Africa, the service will be much more liturgical than most Protestant services at home--except for Anglican or some Lutheran services--with a lot of sung responses and even prayers. So, even though we could understand very little of the Swahili, we could enjoy the singing, and especially the music of the three different choirs. The largest choir was composed of bibis (grandmothers), and they sang more traditional church hymns and had a director. The other two groups were smaller and much young. They did traditional African steps and sang contemporary music with a much more distinctive African rhythm and style.
All of the groups filled the sanctuary without any electronic amplification and had a far richer sound than most American church choirs do. Africans take singing seriously and sing with their whole selves in a manner we generally don't even attempt. Little Anita had soon decided that she wanted to sit on my lap during church, so I had the pleasure of her closeness and could watch her as she sang the words of the responses. Obviously, one does not have to be able to read to participate in the service.
The tricky part of any African church service I have attended is the offering. This morning, a couple of white-robed women set up three difference fabric bags--two green and one tan --on a metal frame at the front of the sanctuary. Then as one of the choirs sang, the entire congregation walked forward by rows, starting from the back and put their offerings in the bags. I had no idea which bag was for what purpose, so when it was our row's turn to go forward, I watched where Anita put her little coin and put my offering into the same bag. However, then the women put out another sort of yellowish bag, but I wasn't prepared for another offering and had no more money with me. Fortunately, John was still solvent, so I held onto his arm with one hand and onto Anita with the other, and we marched by and made a second drop.
But, wait, there was more! A large group of people, maybe 30 to 40, gathered up near the alter, but since they didn't kneel for communion, I had no idea what was going on. The pastor talked to them and touched the heads of two of them, but there was no water involved, so I knew it couldn't be a baptism. The group dispersed and as they walked back toward their seats, they all put yet another offering into yet another bag. A few other people stood up and went forward to add to this offering bag, as well. It was all a mystery to me until later in the day, when Maso, the proprietor here at Kundayo, explained that a family had asked for a blessing and that their whole extended family or clan gathered with them and then gave a special offering. I also found out that for the first offering, the green bags were for tithes and the yellow one for other general offerings. The second one-bag offering was for the congregation's contribution to the diocese. I can't imagine any church in Spokane where the members would be willing to walk forward and give their offerings in front of the entire congregation--or give more than once.
And, there was more to come. Just as in 2012 when we were at a Masai church and someone brought a sheep into the church as a gift of thanksgiving, so too this morning several women had placed small bags of things up at the alter. These bags were brought out after all had left the sanctuary and then auctioned off. So, anyone who could not bring an offering of money could bring eggs, vegetables, or fruit and also contribute to the church. The auctioning went too fast for me to follow, or I would have tried to buy the eggs, as they would certainly have been fresher than the ones John bought at the little store down the road. Those floated pretty freely.
We didn't get home until after 11:00, and as Ray dropped us off back here at Kundayo, the children all waved and yelled good-bye. ( Honora, Ray's wife, had gone to the first service, so I didn't get to see her this morning.) John and both remarked that we enjoyed this morning church service far more than the ones at home. The rapt attention of the congregation, the full-hearted participation in singing and liturgy, and the generous giving showed a zeal and dedication that I rarely see at home. John commented that in comparison, our Presbyterian service seems more like a committee meeting. Next Sunday, we will return and take the students with us.
As soon as we got home from church, I put together four chicken thighs, sauted some onions, peeled five plum tomatoes and put everything together with some spices. Once again, I heated up the pot to a bubbling boil and then enclosed it tightly in the Wonderbag. The question was: Would the Wonderbag be able to cook complete pieces of chick as well as it had chopped up veggies and ground beef? Eight hours later we found out that the answer was definitely a strong affirmative. The chicken was perfectly done! I had shown the closed up Wonderbag to Maso, the proprietor here at Kundayo, during the afternoon when he dropped by to visit with John. He was amazed, and said he wanted to go online and read all about it, as it would save a lot of charcoal, gas, and electricity. From my two experience with it, I'd give the Wonderbag a 5-star rating. The problem now is to whom shall I give it when I leave?
Sunday, January 19, 2014
Lazy Saturday, January 18, 2014
It thundered and threatened and even poured rain off and on all day. I wore my usual short-sleeved tee-shirt and felt a wee bit chilled from time to time. However, that felt so good for a change that I didn't put on a shawl or change to longer sleeves. The fragrance of whatever flowers are blooming now was heavy in the air, almost as if someone were spraying a strong floral perfume at us. I was very grateful for the break from heat and dust.
My first task of the morning was preparing an eggplant and ground beef stew to "cook" all day long in my Wonderbag, which I had purchased just before leaving the States. John was skeptical that it would actually function as advertised, but I thought the worst that could happen would be undercooked stew which I could then finish on the stove. So, I browned the ground beef--called mince here--peeled and cubed the eggplant, chopped the onions and green peppers, and peeled and diced some tomatoes, and then dumped everything together into a big lidded pot. (John had screwed its handle off so it would fit in the WB.) I brought everything to a boil and left it bubbling for 5 minutes as instructed and then put the pot into the WB, and carefully closed it up as tightly as I could.
On the stew was cozily inside the WB, John and I decided to call Ray and have him take us to The Blue Heron, a popular meeting place for expats here in Arusha. This is the type of place we usually do not frequent, but a former student had recommended it as a nice oasis for reading and relaxing. It wasn't raining as we drove to The Blue Heron, but soon after we were seated in the garden and given menus for lunch, it began to pour, so we had to flee and take refuge on the front terrace. All tables under cover were full, so we sat in lounge furniture and tried our best to eat daintily from a low coffee table. I thought we did admirably, and enjoyed my stir-fried chicken dish very much. John had some sort of fish, which he said was delicious too. My discomfort at being in such a wazungu spot was lessened by the presence of some local Tanzanian families and both African and white children.
There are huge greenhouses just outside Arusha for growing flowers which are then flown to Europe overnight to be in the flower markets there in the morning. So, roses are very cheap here--about $3 to $4 a dozen--and every table at The Blue Heron had a bouquet of roses on it. It's nice to have roses here instead of snow at home.
I didn't go into the shop, but from the website, you can click on the photo and seen what I might have bought had I gone shopping. http://blue-heron-tanzania.com/shop/
We returned home in late afternoon and then needed to prepare for dinner, to which we had invited Megan and Donna. Given the paucity of the items stocked in our kitchens, Megan and Donna needed to bring along their plates, and forks. I had bought some more spoons, so we were safe there. Our menu was eggplant stew, rice, tomato and cucumber salad, carrot sticks, and fruit salad for dessert. We also pooled our granola bar and Donna's candy bar, cut each in four pieces, and enjoyed a bit of sweetness with our coffee. The big "disclose" was the moment I delivered the stew from its Wonderbag womb: it was still hot and perfectly done after 9 hours of just sitting there. I'm hooked!
My first task of the morning was preparing an eggplant and ground beef stew to "cook" all day long in my Wonderbag, which I had purchased just before leaving the States. John was skeptical that it would actually function as advertised, but I thought the worst that could happen would be undercooked stew which I could then finish on the stove. So, I browned the ground beef--called mince here--peeled and cubed the eggplant, chopped the onions and green peppers, and peeled and diced some tomatoes, and then dumped everything together into a big lidded pot. (John had screwed its handle off so it would fit in the WB.) I brought everything to a boil and left it bubbling for 5 minutes as instructed and then put the pot into the WB, and carefully closed it up as tightly as I could.
On the stew was cozily inside the WB, John and I decided to call Ray and have him take us to The Blue Heron, a popular meeting place for expats here in Arusha. This is the type of place we usually do not frequent, but a former student had recommended it as a nice oasis for reading and relaxing. It wasn't raining as we drove to The Blue Heron, but soon after we were seated in the garden and given menus for lunch, it began to pour, so we had to flee and take refuge on the front terrace. All tables under cover were full, so we sat in lounge furniture and tried our best to eat daintily from a low coffee table. I thought we did admirably, and enjoyed my stir-fried chicken dish very much. John had some sort of fish, which he said was delicious too. My discomfort at being in such a wazungu spot was lessened by the presence of some local Tanzanian families and both African and white children.
There are huge greenhouses just outside Arusha for growing flowers which are then flown to Europe overnight to be in the flower markets there in the morning. So, roses are very cheap here--about $3 to $4 a dozen--and every table at The Blue Heron had a bouquet of roses on it. It's nice to have roses here instead of snow at home.
I didn't go into the shop, but from the website, you can click on the photo and seen what I might have bought had I gone shopping. http://blue-heron-tanzania.com/shop/
We returned home in late afternoon and then needed to prepare for dinner, to which we had invited Megan and Donna. Given the paucity of the items stocked in our kitchens, Megan and Donna needed to bring along their plates, and forks. I had bought some more spoons, so we were safe there. Our menu was eggplant stew, rice, tomato and cucumber salad, carrot sticks, and fruit salad for dessert. We also pooled our granola bar and Donna's candy bar, cut each in four pieces, and enjoyed a bit of sweetness with our coffee. The big "disclose" was the moment I delivered the stew from its Wonderbag womb: it was still hot and perfectly done after 9 hours of just sitting there. I'm hooked!
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