Okay, okay, I apologize for the tardiness of these last posts. Gosh, since I got home from our trip to Moshi, the internet place where I usually take my computer has not been working. And then other difficulties happened with connection issues... It’s been a really frustrating week because of it, especially because I’m trying really hard to detach myself from things like electronics and internet. However, it’s hard to give up something like my email when that’s my best way to hear from home. It’s almost more important than my phone, considering it’s how I talk to the majority of people I really care about.
So things have changed around here for me this past week. I went back to teaching and was feeling refreshed and excited to try new things. The last exam was really helpful for me because now I had some sort of gage on how much my students actually comprehend. I tried a different approach on talking and teaching, gently singling out students to try things on their own with occasional help from their peers. By the end of the week I felt like we were actually accomplishing things together. And that is when I found out that orientation at Peter Claver was to begin the following week, which was going to pull us completely from teaching at the Youth Centre. As excited as I am about getting things underway for my real placement at the secondary school, I felt terrible about leaving these kids after a month to get another teacher only a few more weeks until holiday. I didn’t even get to tell them. And I was just figuring out their names! I’m still a little bummed about it…
But the last day with them was really fun. The women that take tailoring classes at the Youth Centre were having a fashion show of sorts. Only the girls were required to come to school that day. That morning, the girls got to cleaning the hall, setting up chairs, and getting things ready for the “talent show.” Usually the teachers sit in the office and drink tea while students do things like this, but I wanted to be around them so I tried to help. The girls are so much fun. As I was talking with them or trying to sweep with a broken broom I would feel tiny pulls on my hair. I’d look around and there was a flood of giggles. They are fascinated by my hair. Remembering my own interest in my African American friends’ hair in elementary school, I empathized with their want to just reach out and touch it. After realizing I was completely surrounded by possibly 30 girls just staring and whispering I told the closest one to me that if she asks me in English, I would let her touch my hair. So slowly, together, we said, “Teacher Laura, may I please touch your hair?” (Such a strange sentence, right?) In her sweet accent, she repeated after me and then touched my hair, giggled profusely, and her other friends started reaching out. Students have a hard time articulating questions in English, so I figured I’d take this slightly strange opportunity to practice with them.
“Madam, may I touch your hair?”
Soon the room was all set up for the show. The teachers sat in the front. The women danced their beautiful dresses and other sewn creations to the front. I love the incorporation of dancing with everything. It brings life to everything, even displaying freshly sewn pillowcases. And it shows how fun life can be. There were a few dance breaks between the “acts.” The women and girls tried so hard to get Sean and I to dance. We did for a while, but I haven’t quite figured out the dance shuffle thing yet, and so I feel silly, and consequently look much sillier than I should. But I keep trying. And they love seeing Teacher Laura up there trying to do what they do. The morning ended with a wonderful lunch for the teachers and guests. I often find myself eating with my hands here. I’m not sure why one occasion warrants forks and others don’t, but I’m starting to love the opportunities where I can just dig in (literally). Sometimes I find myself eating with my hands at home, too. I think it tastes better that way. I’m serious!
This week Sean and I have been reporting to K’Ndege (the parish’s name – airport parish) at 8am for orientation with our five other colleagues and Fr. Marty (headmaster). We’ve been reviewing the history of the Jesuits, the history of the Jesuits in Tanzania, learning about how the school has come to be, reviewing the student handbook and discussing a teacher’s vocation. I’m really enjoying getting to know the other teachers and getting an idea of the kind of environment we hope to establish at the school. I am definitely teaching a study skills and speech class for one semester and a ethics/applied philosophy class the second semester, in addition to helping with the English classes small group work. (Teacher friends, I will soon be frantically emailing you for ideas for these classes – so start thinking!!). At first I was a little unsure about all this, but now I’m actually really excited. These types of classes are real-life skills that I can help develop, instead of a typical subject class. I think I will have a lot of flexibility here to really practice cura personalis, care for the whole person (thank you to Paula and Carrie, and the many others, who did this for me during my time at Carroll). And Marty has this incredible vision for incorporating values of the Jesuits and the values of a very important president of Tanzania, Julius Nyerere, which I know will help foster good citizens of this beautiful country.
Soon I will write more details about what I’ve been learning about the school, but for now I just ask for your prayers that we faculty can be guided in the right direction so this school can truly be an institution that truly helps students “to learn, to love, to serve".
09 December 2010
2 Dec 2010
Tuesday, the day of the celebration for Shirima’s jubilee, finally came (after a really long night’s sleep, thank you God!). We bought the family a small gift (booze and cookies, why not?) and started our walk up the steep hill to their home. We sat around as guests arrived, meeting his friends including sisters traveling from Nairobi (one was from England), a few Jesuits and many other interesting people. Shirima said Mass in his backyard on a stage made by his family to a yard full of people sitting on benches and chairs all around. I have no way of estimating how many people, but Shirima later told us that according to the number of plates used at dinner, there may have been well over 600! The choir and youth choir from Shirima’s home parish came, and the family set up a nice sound system for music.
So now this is where the most incredible part of my weekend began – experiencing a traditional mchanga (the tribe) celebration. Typically celebrations in Tanzania have a formal structure, with a schedule of events and a certain way these events play out. And an MC is always in attendance to help things move along. After Mass began speeches made by Shirima’s brother (who may actually be his older cousin), special song sung by the choir, a special performance by the youth choir in which they played out some sort of wedding – I’m not completely sure, but the children sang a song as a tiny girl dressed as a bride and a small boy dresses as a priest stood before Fr. Shirima and sang some song in which the young “priest” prostrated himself before the altar. From my gathering of context clues, I think the performance was symbolizing Shirima’s own entrance into the priesthood. But whatever the true meaning, it was really sweet.
After all this was time for champagne. Shirma was to open a bottle and share it with all of his “special” guests. So Shirma popped the cork and the MC began inviting people to the stage. First the other Jesuits and priests in attendance, then the sisters that traveled from far, then other friends that came from great distances, (note: this is all being gathered from my context clues considering I have no understanding of the actual dialogue from the MC). Soon I heard “mericani” – said, Ameri-cawn-ie, but without the first A – and Sean and I were being pushed onto stage. We had no idea that we were going to be such honored guests! Each guest on stage was handed champagne, the music is cued, and we walked in a little line to have our turn clanging glasses with Fr. Shirima. That was fun! And we were so naïve to think that was the end of it…
Somewhere in the middle of this all is a time for refreshments – aka, let’s pull out the barrels (I found out later there were 12 and 9 were used) of mbege (banana beer) and give liter sized cups to every adult at the place. This family was incredible with the distribution of this stuff. They’d all scoop buckets and run to one end filling cups to the brim, emptying the bucket and running back to the source for more. These cups were really big, especially full of something that has a pretty high percentage of alcohol. It was a scene!
Next on our schedule was the cutting of the cake. Hmm.. that doesn’t sound too strange, right? We wait as two caters push this long cart with an oddly shaped cake covered by a white sheet out in front of Shirima. They unveiled it and sure enough, by Kaga tradition, the “cake” is a roasted goat, head and all, decorated with little veggie circles and a good-luck plant in his mouth. Shirima takes the first cut and then feeds it to the parish priest, then the priest takes a cut and feeds Shirima – I guess another part of tradition? And then again, the calling of the honored guests for Shirima to feed them one by one a piece of goat meat – priests, family members, sisters, friends, and then “mericani” as everyone laughs at our confusion and excitement from it all.
I forgot to mention that also in Tanzanian culture is the constant playing of music and the constant dancing that happens. This becomes most evident when “gift giving” time came and again, the “mericani” were called (we frantically found the gift we had already given that morning to Shirima in the house and awkwardly, except not really awkward at all, re-gave it to him). You are expected to do this dance walk thing, nothing too fancy really just a nice movement to the beat as you walk you gift to him, but for some reason at that moment my body failed me as I became that silly un-rhythmic “mzungu” (remember, that’s slang for white person?) tripping over my feet and feeling like a fool until I just gave up and laughed my way back to my seat.
Last part of the celebration was dinner where again, we and the other honored guests were ushered to a secluded part of the house’s compound where we sat in chairs all facing the same direction and shared an enormous meal, as other guests walked through and left with their dinners to sit elsewhere.
I never imagined this weekend would have been as nice as it was. Part of me felt guilty that my American cloak was the reason I was put on such high regard, but I also realize that if we hadn’t known Shirima so well, we would have just been another guest and I wouldn’t have had the same experience. I felt like I was part of this tradition, this family, this Tanzania. I honestly think I won’t ever forget this weekend.
Thankfully Mt. Kilimanjaro showed its face the morning we were leaving as we waited for our bus to arrive. Honestly, I wasn’t as impressed as I thought I would be – but I think it was because of how far we were from it and all the buildings, etc. that sat in front of it. Don’t worry, I plan on giving it another chance to redeem itself the next time I visit.
That’s all for now… I hope my silly words brought my experience to life for you.
So now this is where the most incredible part of my weekend began – experiencing a traditional mchanga (the tribe) celebration. Typically celebrations in Tanzania have a formal structure, with a schedule of events and a certain way these events play out. And an MC is always in attendance to help things move along. After Mass began speeches made by Shirima’s brother (who may actually be his older cousin), special song sung by the choir, a special performance by the youth choir in which they played out some sort of wedding – I’m not completely sure, but the children sang a song as a tiny girl dressed as a bride and a small boy dresses as a priest stood before Fr. Shirima and sang some song in which the young “priest” prostrated himself before the altar. From my gathering of context clues, I think the performance was symbolizing Shirima’s own entrance into the priesthood. But whatever the true meaning, it was really sweet.
After all this was time for champagne. Shirma was to open a bottle and share it with all of his “special” guests. So Shirma popped the cork and the MC began inviting people to the stage. First the other Jesuits and priests in attendance, then the sisters that traveled from far, then other friends that came from great distances, (note: this is all being gathered from my context clues considering I have no understanding of the actual dialogue from the MC). Soon I heard “mericani” – said, Ameri-cawn-ie, but without the first A – and Sean and I were being pushed onto stage. We had no idea that we were going to be such honored guests! Each guest on stage was handed champagne, the music is cued, and we walked in a little line to have our turn clanging glasses with Fr. Shirima. That was fun! And we were so naïve to think that was the end of it…
Somewhere in the middle of this all is a time for refreshments – aka, let’s pull out the barrels (I found out later there were 12 and 9 were used) of mbege (banana beer) and give liter sized cups to every adult at the place. This family was incredible with the distribution of this stuff. They’d all scoop buckets and run to one end filling cups to the brim, emptying the bucket and running back to the source for more. These cups were really big, especially full of something that has a pretty high percentage of alcohol. It was a scene!
Next on our schedule was the cutting of the cake. Hmm.. that doesn’t sound too strange, right? We wait as two caters push this long cart with an oddly shaped cake covered by a white sheet out in front of Shirima. They unveiled it and sure enough, by Kaga tradition, the “cake” is a roasted goat, head and all, decorated with little veggie circles and a good-luck plant in his mouth. Shirima takes the first cut and then feeds it to the parish priest, then the priest takes a cut and feeds Shirima – I guess another part of tradition? And then again, the calling of the honored guests for Shirima to feed them one by one a piece of goat meat – priests, family members, sisters, friends, and then “mericani” as everyone laughs at our confusion and excitement from it all.
I forgot to mention that also in Tanzanian culture is the constant playing of music and the constant dancing that happens. This becomes most evident when “gift giving” time came and again, the “mericani” were called (we frantically found the gift we had already given that morning to Shirima in the house and awkwardly, except not really awkward at all, re-gave it to him). You are expected to do this dance walk thing, nothing too fancy really just a nice movement to the beat as you walk you gift to him, but for some reason at that moment my body failed me as I became that silly un-rhythmic “mzungu” (remember, that’s slang for white person?) tripping over my feet and feeling like a fool until I just gave up and laughed my way back to my seat.
Last part of the celebration was dinner where again, we and the other honored guests were ushered to a secluded part of the house’s compound where we sat in chairs all facing the same direction and shared an enormous meal, as other guests walked through and left with their dinners to sit elsewhere.
I never imagined this weekend would have been as nice as it was. Part of me felt guilty that my American cloak was the reason I was put on such high regard, but I also realize that if we hadn’t known Shirima so well, we would have just been another guest and I wouldn’t have had the same experience. I felt like I was part of this tradition, this family, this Tanzania. I honestly think I won’t ever forget this weekend.
Thankfully Mt. Kilimanjaro showed its face the morning we were leaving as we waited for our bus to arrive. Honestly, I wasn’t as impressed as I thought I would be – but I think it was because of how far we were from it and all the buildings, etc. that sat in front of it. Don’t worry, I plan on giving it another chance to redeem itself the next time I visit.
That’s all for now… I hope my silly words brought my experience to life for you.
1 Dec 2010
6am wake up to make it to the bus for a 7am departure on Saturday morning – yuck. Fortunately, the bus station is only a short ride away. Unfortunately, the bus trip was anything but short. The lack of sleep was very helpful for this 12 hour hot (very, very hot) bus ride; sleep helped me pass time and also helped me forget how uncomfortable I was. At least this bus ride (compared to my first from Dar) I have enough vocabulary to buy a piece of fresh pineapple and cashews at one of the stops (well, I lied, Jana did). She and I also shared leftover ugali made a few days before – ugali is this staple East African food, a starchy lump of… actually I have no words to describe it. It is pretty tasteless but fills one’s tummy, nonetheless. When the bus-demon decided we had enough torture (okay, I’m exaggerating a lot here), we arrived in Moshi where Fr. Shirima’s bright grin and welcoming hand greeted us as we marched out of the bus. I thought, yes! we made it!, as he ushered us into a bus-cab to begin the next part of our journey to his home village, called Rombo. I didn’t fit in the bus, so Shirima pushed me into the back of another vehicle with two people he claimed didn’t speak English where I would have to “fend for myself.” Haha – not funny, Father. Don’t worry, turned out the man and woman sitting in the front were close friends to Shirima and his family. Our trip to Rombo was very, very bumpy and lasted about two hours. However, the ride was beautiful – I was mesmerized by the window as we passed so much green. This place looked like the tropics; literally, like a rain forest of sorts. Who knew there’d be a place like this in Africa?
Halfway through this drive began the descent of the sun. It was just what I would ever hope from an African sunset – incredibly majestic colors reaching out to ever corner of the sky. Reds and oranges smeared over a landscape of trees that remind me of the Lion King. It’s an image that no camera could ever truly capture. It was the type of sunset that keeps your eyes glued to the spot where the sun disappeared so as to soak up every last drop of color. It was breath-taking.
When we finally arrived “home,” Shirima’s beautiful family welcomed us warmly and filled our tummies with a much-needed and delicious meal, including bananas prepared two different ways. (We ate lots of bananas this weekend because they are grown abundantly in this tropical weather). We were later shuttled to a “hotel” in town where we spent the night. (Tanzanian hotels are not comparable with any stars to hotels in the US – but did you really think they would be?)
The next day we woke around 6am for 7am Mass – the first Sunday of Advent! (though if they mentioned anything about that, I would have no idea). The Masses in Tanzania have yet to get old for me. Despite their length, usually around 2hrs, and the fact that I have no clue what they are saying, the vibrancy of the congregation often gives me the chills (the good kind, of course). Especially the music. Oh, the music! The choirs are made of African angels with voices that harmonize and beats that you can’t resist clapping along. And there are so many religious women here, especially at this parish. Like maybe 20 or so older women and 20 or so young women. It is really incredible to witness, considering the extreme lack of religious women in the States.
After Mass we went back to the house for a breakfast of tea and bread. After chatting a while, we walked with a few others to another church (a few women didn’t go with us that morning). We wanted to check out the home parish of Shirima. We waited around for the next Mass to start, and when the time came we saw masses of people leaving and masses of people entering – another thing about Tanzanian Catholics that keeps me amazed.
When we went back to the house, I tried very hard to talk to the many “family” members that were there preparing the home for the celebration the next day. (I write “family” because that term here is used loosely here, such as brother is for brothers, male cousins, and possibly close family friends. It’s used so loosely, in fact, that often “outsiders” have no idea the true relation!) I asked one Mama if I could help with lunch – and that was my ‘in’. The people are so thrilled when you show any interest in their language, their traditions, their culture. I often look and sound so silly to them, but I think they appreciate my trying (or I’m just making such a fool of myself that they have to laugh – but I’m okay with that, too). Mama took us on a walk through the green to another of their homes where they grow all kinds of fruits and vegetables – we picked some pili pili (hot peppers), and Mama split open a passion fruit for us to taste (it wasn’t ripe so it was really sour). The rest of the day was sitting around or walking around, eating, talking with the family and watching them set up the home.
One of the coolest things from the weekend was watching Shirima’s family make their own beer. His family’s clan is one of the only in Tanzania that make this mbege, a beer-like drink made from bananas. They had barrels and barrels and barrels of this stuff (I’m not kidding, maybe like 10 or so). I saw them do the final stage of straining the mbege. It definitely has a strange and unique taste, one that is definitely indescribable, but I liked it! I was cautious not to drink too much, though, knowing my tolerance level could be irrelevant with something so foreign.
Oh! Also, we took a little hike to see if we could catch a glimpse of Mt. Kilimanjaro – no such luck. Apparently Kili is a “shy” mountain; it only shows it’s peak at certain times of the day. We unfortunately caught it when it was hiding in a cloud of haze. But how cool that Kili is pretty much in their back yard!
Okay, that concludes the first half of this weekend.. it is getting late and I want to give my full attention to describing the following day because of how incredible the celebration went – so I’ll leave that for tomorrow.
Halfway through this drive began the descent of the sun. It was just what I would ever hope from an African sunset – incredibly majestic colors reaching out to ever corner of the sky. Reds and oranges smeared over a landscape of trees that remind me of the Lion King. It’s an image that no camera could ever truly capture. It was the type of sunset that keeps your eyes glued to the spot where the sun disappeared so as to soak up every last drop of color. It was breath-taking.
When we finally arrived “home,” Shirima’s beautiful family welcomed us warmly and filled our tummies with a much-needed and delicious meal, including bananas prepared two different ways. (We ate lots of bananas this weekend because they are grown abundantly in this tropical weather). We were later shuttled to a “hotel” in town where we spent the night. (Tanzanian hotels are not comparable with any stars to hotels in the US – but did you really think they would be?)
The next day we woke around 6am for 7am Mass – the first Sunday of Advent! (though if they mentioned anything about that, I would have no idea). The Masses in Tanzania have yet to get old for me. Despite their length, usually around 2hrs, and the fact that I have no clue what they are saying, the vibrancy of the congregation often gives me the chills (the good kind, of course). Especially the music. Oh, the music! The choirs are made of African angels with voices that harmonize and beats that you can’t resist clapping along. And there are so many religious women here, especially at this parish. Like maybe 20 or so older women and 20 or so young women. It is really incredible to witness, considering the extreme lack of religious women in the States.
After Mass we went back to the house for a breakfast of tea and bread. After chatting a while, we walked with a few others to another church (a few women didn’t go with us that morning). We wanted to check out the home parish of Shirima. We waited around for the next Mass to start, and when the time came we saw masses of people leaving and masses of people entering – another thing about Tanzanian Catholics that keeps me amazed.
When we went back to the house, I tried very hard to talk to the many “family” members that were there preparing the home for the celebration the next day. (I write “family” because that term here is used loosely here, such as brother is for brothers, male cousins, and possibly close family friends. It’s used so loosely, in fact, that often “outsiders” have no idea the true relation!) I asked one Mama if I could help with lunch – and that was my ‘in’. The people are so thrilled when you show any interest in their language, their traditions, their culture. I often look and sound so silly to them, but I think they appreciate my trying (or I’m just making such a fool of myself that they have to laugh – but I’m okay with that, too). Mama took us on a walk through the green to another of their homes where they grow all kinds of fruits and vegetables – we picked some pili pili (hot peppers), and Mama split open a passion fruit for us to taste (it wasn’t ripe so it was really sour). The rest of the day was sitting around or walking around, eating, talking with the family and watching them set up the home.
One of the coolest things from the weekend was watching Shirima’s family make their own beer. His family’s clan is one of the only in Tanzania that make this mbege, a beer-like drink made from bananas. They had barrels and barrels and barrels of this stuff (I’m not kidding, maybe like 10 or so). I saw them do the final stage of straining the mbege. It definitely has a strange and unique taste, one that is definitely indescribable, but I liked it! I was cautious not to drink too much, though, knowing my tolerance level could be irrelevant with something so foreign.
Oh! Also, we took a little hike to see if we could catch a glimpse of Mt. Kilimanjaro – no such luck. Apparently Kili is a “shy” mountain; it only shows it’s peak at certain times of the day. We unfortunately caught it when it was hiding in a cloud of haze. But how cool that Kili is pretty much in their back yard!
Okay, that concludes the first half of this weekend.. it is getting late and I want to give my full attention to describing the following day because of how incredible the celebration went – so I’ll leave that for tomorrow.
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