In A-Rush-a to get to site!

At the Site Announcement Ceremony

Site announcement day in Peace Corps is usually precluded by many sleepless nights. For me, the insomnia came after site announcements!

Our much-anticipated ceremony began after lunch on Wednesday. I followed the sound of African drums in to a clearing in which our ceremony would be held. A traditional dance troupe was in full swing, and some other volunteers and I joined them in celebrating the day with dance. Ribbons of sweat poured down my body - it was another sweltering "spring" day in Korogwe.

When the time finally came for the site reveals, our oldest volunteer was asked to approach the large Tanzanian map with push pins placed in almost every region. She uncovered one photo, introducing one volunteer to his home for the next two years. One by one, all of the faces on the map were uncovered. I waited many long minutes while the three regions I had "bid" for were filled with faces other than my own. Fifty-nine other names were read before mine (number 60 out of 61) was finally called. I had been placed in Arusha, a region I knew absolutely nothing about other than the Arusha bombings.

After my initial surprise and trepidation, and two extremely sleepless nights, I've truly become excited about my placement. My home is described by nearby volunteers as "in the bush" - and that means I have no running water or electricity. These will be huge adjustments for me, but I look forward to accepting the challenge! I should be able to overlook the famous Ngorongoro Crater National Park from my window, which means elephants, lions, and other animals will be my daily entertainment.

I will join 8 Tanzanian teachers at Kainam Rhotia Secondary School, where there are about 250 students currently.

The three other volunteers in the Arusha region and I are already on our way to our region: a crowded, "culturally enriching" bus ride. Our 2-day route will take us through the Kilimanjaro region.

I have to admit that I'm a bundle of nerves and excitement for the week ahead. Here we go!

Maranatha Gospel Choir!

The Maranatha Gospel Choir and myself on our last Sunday together.

On some Sundays, I have a special treat to look forward to after I finish scrubbing my clothes until my hands are raw.  A neighbor, Anthony, comes over to listen to me play the flute, and teaches me a few traditional Tanzanian tunes.  Anthony is also one of the leaders of the Maranatha Gospel Choir, one of two choirs at our Anglican Church.  The two choirs usually alternate songs, and the competition is tangible sometimes.  This, along with role-plays and the occasional consecration of a motorcycle, make mass a truly enjoyable way to spend half of my Sunday.  Two Sundays ago, Anthony told me that he wanted me to teach the choir a few English songs.

The following Tuesday, after I raced home from my classes, my host mom and I set out for the church together.  In Korogwe, sudden and deafening rains pour down multiple times per day.  They usually last for five to ten minutes, and then end abruptly as if they never existed.  The telltale puddles seep quickly into the parched ground, and rains remain a secret from those safe inside their homes.  We got caught in one of these flash downpours, and I stowed the large posters I had prepared for the choir under my skirt as we hurried through the downpour.

My first time standing in front of the choir was exceptionally intimidating.  When we entered, the choir director stood in the center of a circle of voices.  His attention, like a laser beam, focused on one member at a time.  With all eyes on the “kiti moto,” or hot-seat, he would instruct them to stretch their mouth over two fingers arranged vertically, then three, and then four.  With a four finger chamber with which to make sound, they were asked to create the deep, soulful resonance that is so common with African gospel choirs.  I was terrified that he would make me sit in the kiti moto.

When it was finally my turn to teach, I arranged my posters, and began singing for them, “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine…”  They sang back timidly to me.  During the rest of the week, I spent all of my free evenings with the choir.  By the end of the week, we were laughing, clapping and dancing along to the song.  I learned a few Kiswahili songs and dances, much to the amusement of all the children of the church.  The pastor was extremely pleased at the cultural exchange.  A few days later, I was conversing with him before a choir practice, and he mentioned how impressed he was with my progress in Kiswahili (cue internal victory dance!).

This week, I have been teaching the choir to sing, “Go, Tell it on the Mountain.”  Teaching English words to adults and children (three of them are actually my Form I students!) who have never spoken English is a challenge, but as a Peace Corps Trainee, my full-time job is to work to overcome challenges.  I have a Tanzanian friend from the local teachers’ college, Jaqlin, and she loves to come to our choir practice.  Together, we translate English words into Kiswahili.  Last week, as I was copying the lyrics onto a blackboard, we went through and added Kiswahili spellings of each and every English word.  While their pronunciations are not perfect, they sing in four-part harmony, and the resulting sound is pure joy.

I’ve mentioned this to a few people, but I feel substantially closer to my host family and many Tanzanians that I do to my peer Peace Corps Trainees.  For now, I guess this is helping me to integrate.  I cannot go anywhere in town without running into a mama or a babe from the choir who will inquire about every part of my life – and it’s wonderful to feel loved by so many.  The mommas love teaching me to sing and dance, as our voices and bodies move in harmony.  When we add keyboard music, guitars, and percussion, the energy in the room gets high.  During every musical interlude, all of the mamas, and most of the babas drop their hips and twist low to the ground.  At some point, they’ll  let out a rapid, high-pitched “LA-LA-LA-LA-LA” – anyone who has been to Tanzania knows it well.  At first, it feels strange to be doing all this in a House of God – but one quickly remembers that this is a brilliant way to praise God – with joyful hearts and a spring in one’s step.  My favorite song is a catchy, upbeat tune called, “Upendo,” which means love in Kiswahili.  Amid shaking of hips and joyful voices, we praise God in Kiswahili, English, and most of all, in the language of love.

She WILL Be.

Yesterday, I was studying Kiswahili at my school in the evening.  (We have a final exam early next week, and I still have much to learn before I master the language!)  As usual, a group of students came in to greet me.  This time, there were only girls.  They arranged themselves around me as I flipped through my flashcards, practicing their English as I practiced my Kiswahili.  These girls were far more fluent in English than my Form I students, and we were able to play a few games as well as talk freely with me.  Our conversation wandered to women presidents of the world.  Joyce Banda had become president of neighboring Malawi, and she is a role model to all women of East Africa.  These girls were shocked to hear that the U.S.A. has never had a woman president.  Frankly, I am too!  So many driven and intelligent women graduate from top universities in our country each year.  Why does the glass ceiling still extend over the most prestigious public office in the most modern country in the world?  I firmly hope and believe that I will live to see the day when a woman holds the place of honor on Air Force One.

I know much less about Tanzanian history than my students do, but I do know that Tanzania has never had a woman as president in its short time being free of outside rule.  Still, I asked the girls, “Has Tanzania ever had a woman president?”  Their heads nodded vigorously, NO.  But Fatuma, the girl sitting closest to me, with her hand poised on my book, gave me a solemn look and said, “But she WILL be.”

A tangible chill went down my spine as I processed her words.  In a country in which women are sold for marriage for the price of livestock, and expected to cook, clean, and care for children in every waking moment, it is very difficult for females to make achievements even in primary and secondary school.  The ceiling that prevents most girls from entering university and careers outside the home is hardly glass.  It is solid, forged with concrete and the heavy rock of the Kilimanjaro foothills that decorate the Tanzanian landscape.  The obstacles facing women are tangible, visible, and extremely resistant to change.  Young women like Fatuma, and all of the wonderful girls in my classroom that day, make me so hopeful for the future of the women of Tanzania and the world.  Girl Rising (check out the documentary!) to Woman Empowered.  In this country, as well as around the world, “She WILL be.”

Hungry to Learn

Maybe this is not enough writing for a full post, because I can’t quite put words to it.  But here goes:

Today, I stayed after classes at my school to create a teaching aid about human immunity for my classroom.  As I was winding down my work, a group of five girls peered in the door, laughing and giggling through shy smiles.  From their rapid Kiswahili, I could make out that their “tuition” teacher was not there to teach them.  I invited them into my classroom, and they gathered around me as I finished cutting and sticking pieces of colored paper.  Soon, we were engaged in a full-on lesson.  We created diagrams and flow charts together about conservation of energy and the balance of life.  When I read 6:00 pm (in Tanzanian time, 12:00 jioni!) on my watch, the girls were still earnest with their questions.  After a few moments, I had to all but force them to leave the school grounds.

I arrived home, and remembered that I had promised another student that I would help him tonight.  His name is Augustino, and you may have read about him before on my blog!  Hardly 40 minutes later, he raced into our yard on his bike.  He needed help on the human body systems for his important Form II exam – the government exam on which his continuance in school hinged – and takes every opportunity to get help from me.  Augustino and I made colorful outlines and diagrams until well past 9 pm, when we realized we were both famished.

In the U.S., it is becoming increasingly rare to find students who crave learning.  But students who will stay at school until dusk to spend time with a teacher?  Students who will spend their entire evening poring over their books with a teacher?  These kids are special, and maybe unique to Tanzania.  There is absolutely nothing as fulfilling for a teacher than helping children hungry to learn.

A view of our classroom board just after the girls left!

Eid-al-Fitr and other wonderful things

Watching the news, in any country, is usually a sure-fire way to become disheartened.  In my host family, we watch BBC News: Focus on Africa almost every night.  Above all, it is the most depressing news hour that I’ve seen.  Scenes of disasters in Gaza constantly pepper the screen, and since the rapid Kiswahili that the news anchors speak is difficult for me to understand, I just stare open-mouthed at the panning photographs.  Terrorist attacks in Algeria, Ethiopia, and across the continent are covered every night – and it seems like the terrible happenings in our neighbor, Kenya – are too common to report.  In a world where death is a glorified spectacle, it seems like stories don’t make the news unless lives are lost.  The worst part is, these news stories cover crimes that are committed in the name of God – one brother of faith against another.

My village is called Masuguru, and it’s a small community just outside of the town of Korogwe.  In Masuguru, Christians and Muslims live in harmony.  In fact, even in my house, Christians and Muslims live in harmony.  My family is part of the local Anglican church, but since we are quite well off, we have two girls staying with us from other families.  I call them both “dada,” or sister, and it took me almost two weeks to learn that they were not the biological daughters of my host family.  Both girls are Muslim.  One, Amina, is older, and she went home for the week to celebrate Eid with her family.  The youngest, Rehema, stayed home.  In the morning, I saw her off to the masjid (and came extremely close to skipping my morning training session and experiencing the mosque with her!).  She was bubbly and excited for the feasting and celebrations to come.  I was allowed to leave my training early in honor of Eid, and I raced home to help with the holiday preparations.  I remember waking up around 4:30 am that morning to the sound of chickens screaming bloody murder – and now I knew why.  My Baba had killed a chicken, and it was merrily boiling in a soup on the jiko, a charcoal stove.  I chopped onions and smashed garlic until my hands were raw.  My Christian family ate pulao, the traditional Tanzanian Eid dish, in honor of my Muslim host sister.  After lunch, we visited some of our Muslim neighbors, bringing sweets to the children, and filling our stomachs even more.  Like many days in Korogowe, Eid was marked by sudden downpours that left us stranded in one home for a while!  While trudging through the mud on the way home, we passed the Mamba Club, a facility next door to our compound.  Rehema had told me a few days before how excited she was for the Eid party at the Mamba Club.  Sure enough, when dusk fell,  files of little girls, ornamented in lace and pastel dresses and with intricate hairstyles, rushed to line up at the alligator’s mouth entrance to Mamba Club.

When religious harmony is natural and effortless in a community like Masuguru, it is difficult to comprehend why so many lives are lost in our world because of religious differences.  These religious crusades seem like they belong in a different millennium.  Hopefully, our world will soon realize that we have moved too far as a society to take lives in the name of God, and Masuguru village can be just one example of the new, modern view of harmony.  In my life, as well as Masuguru village, faith is the most important gift.  It takes just a pinch of tolerance to share faith respectfully, and we are praying that the world realizes this soon.