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.