Arusha, Thursday, March 2, 2017

This day started early because I was the leader for the ACC women’s Bible study group. Our discussion was supposed to focus on Matthew 5: 16 - 19, the passage about being salt and light in our world. For someone with my elastic theology, this wasn’t a difficult text at all, but I wanted to make certain that I didn’t just say the same old things we’ve all heard since our Sunday School days, and I didn’t want to completely offend women who I knew would be far more theologically conservative than I am. So, as always, I over prepared. I downloaded N.T. Wright’s book, “Simply Jesus,” and read through that and also read several article on internet, and finally decided to first give the historical context into which Jesus appeared and discuss how he was not recognized as the expected messiah, just as today he isn’t recognized as revealing a new ethic and way of life. Both then and now, people wanted a political, militarily powerful messiah. After that, we’d explore the text and discuss meaning and application for us today. I knew, too, that as always, the women would find lots of ways to talk about whatever they wanted to, so I wasn’t worried about filling time.

We met at Miriam’s apartment, and since I arrived first—I was on time—I had time to find out more about Miriam, who is ethnically Asian Indian. She’s in her late 70s and as long as I have known her, she has been caring for her almost bedridden husband. She was born in Tanzania and met her husband while she was a nurse in Botswana. He is Muslim and she is Christian, so for years he forbid her to attend church. Finally, she discovered a women group which was meeting in some athletic club and began attending it every week. After several years, she finally told him why she went to the athletic club so faithfully, and he allowed he to continue.  Then, a friend from that weekly group invited her to ACC, and again he allowed her to attend.  Now, the women’s group meets in her apartment from time to time, which I think must be a huge stretch for him. She has always seemed a bit dour to me, but I realize now that she is simply a quiet, private person with great inner strength.

Our meeting went just a I thought it would, and only one woman—a mzungu—got a little jumpy with my theology. The women all had excellent observations and got off the topic as soon as they could so they could catch up on who was doing what or had which sort of problem. They are thick as thieves, as we say, and I’m always amazed that they have allowed me inside their circle. The “study” is supposed to end at 11:30, so we can eat the hostess’ prepared lunch and leave at 12 noon or soon thereafter, but everyone kept talking until 12:15, when I finally called a close to it all.  Then, we enjoyed the incredible baked vegetables with yogurt topping, fruit and nuts, and caramel flan which Mariam had made, plus the vitumbua she had bought from a neighborhood baker. I love those things, but managed to control my intake to two. Of course, the seasoning on the vegetables was superb as well and I was reminded how dull our American cooking often is.

Afterward, I rode with Angela to a nearby produce hub of some sort called Simba Farm. (Well, we drove there after we had a discussion about whether or not Angela was having a heart attack. I said I thought not because I didn’t know how to drive her stick shift Rover.) The “farm” is a compound right in a very typical Arusha neighborhood. The Dutch family living there has a real farm somewhere—as some other Dutch do as well—and so all the produce comes to the big warehouse in the compound, where it is sold to the public though the bulk of it is packed and sent by refrigerated truck to Dar es Salaam. I have never seen such a variety of produce and herbs in one place (http://www.simbafarmlodge.com/veggies/gallery/). There was even rhubarb!  Angela loaded up, but I only bought two potatoes, two cucumbers, and once nice big avocado, all for about $.60. Next year, I will make sure we shop often at this place, as it is close enough for John to walk there.

From Simba Farm, Angela drove on to Ilboru area of Arusha, where she oversees a small gift shop at the Ilboru Safari Lodge Hotel (http://annelie3.wixsite.com/isl2015).  The Dutch hotel owner has given Angela the space free of charge so Angela can market the crafts made by a co-op of Masai women she has been working with for several years (www.maasai—art.org). Angela meets with the women once a month at a site between Arusha and their bomas to teach them better design and jewelry making skills as well as pricing and marketing strategies. She also drives for several hours once a month to wherever these women live to pick up their wares and distribute to them the money they have earned. Since Angela does all of this without payment, and the hotel staff handle the sales for free, the women get all the money from their sales.. The little shop was very neat, the wares were well displayed, and I was surprised by how extremely reasonable the prices were. I really didn’t need any more Masai jewelry, etc. but I did a bit of what I have come to call “charitable shopping.”  Then, Angela and I had very cold Cokes (I hadn’t had a Coke for many, many years.) and reviewed her possible heart attack beforeI called a taxi for the trip back to Kundayo.

By the time I got back, it was well after 4:00, and I was exhausted. The road into Ilboru is one of the worst in all of Arusha, and I felt completely shaken to bits. Plus, I hadn’t slept well the night before. I wanted to collapse and have full in-room service with fan wavers and someone bringing me cold drinks and gently wiping my sweaty brow.  However, Elizabeth texted me that her watermelons needed water which would cost her 60,000 Tsch. and could I please send that much to her via the phone transfer system they have here. I couldn’t handle the thought of hundreds of dead baby melons because of my being selfish, so I gave John the money, which he then took to a nearby hole-in-the-wall cosmetics shop, where the owner made a phone call, and the money was instantly transferred to Elizabeth. She immediately texted me all sorts of grateful thanks and blessings, which I guess will be my reward since the watermelons won’t be ripe in time for me to try one.

Then, I really felt done. However, Mama Kundayo appeared outside, so I wobbled out to sit with her and give an account of my day. She was dressed in black as this has been a dreadful week for her with several funerals. We didn’t talk as long as usual. And, then, my good and faithful helpmate, John, fixed us a light meal of leftovers with fruit and yogurt for dessert. Then, we watched a bit of MSNBC and learned more about Jeff Sessions and the Russians. returning back to the States is getting less and less appealing.