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.