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.