A week in Dodoma

We had a week off to stay in Dodoma before we traveled to retreat. We took the girls to their first Mass which I think they really enjoyed – my favorite liturgical dancers were there – and Monday night they went to their first community night at the Ihumwa residence. Monday night community nights are absolutely one of my favorite times of the week. Around 6:30pm on a Monday, we gather with the Jesuits and sometimes the Sisters and have Mass, dinner, and play games like Uno or Scrabble. The Jesuits have recently incorporated a rotating schedule of 'homilists' which includes us volunteers. I like it a lot, because it gives all of us a chance to share our faith and reflections. Sossy loves Scrabble (and is incredibly good at it) and so I'm excited to introduce him to “Banana Grams” which is essentially a fast paced version of Scrabble.

The rest of the week was more house cleaning and obtaining necessities, but also a lot of exploring town and visiting friends. One day we took the girls to visit our friends in Ihumwa, the village just beyond our school. We traveled there in the afternoon and as soon as we arrived, our friends Charley and his wife Mama Tula treated us to a delicious lunch of beans, fish from Hombolo (a lake about 100 km away from Dodoma – Charley rode his bike there to buy the fish for us), and ugali. The meal was absolutely delicious, and the memory of sitting under their mango tree on a mat surrounded by children also eating, and joking with our friends makes me smile. It was so great sharing that with Cristina and Hannah, too. Mama Tula was complaining that she didn't want to eat, and I joke that she had worms (though I knew from Sean that she was pregnant) and she replied, yes one very big worm! I forget when exactly she's due, but it will be exciting to be around with another new born! People are always having babies around here, it seems. Tanzanians consider children such a blessing. Sometimes I get a little jealous that I myself don't have a beautiful little dark-skinned child to tie around my back. Maybe Mama Tula will let me borrow hers ;) !!

After lunch, and after playing with the mob of children that gathered to see us, we all walked to the market that opens every Friday evening in their village. There are tons of people there, many who are completely not used to seeing white faces, especially not in their market. I love being there and surprising the people with the very little Kigogo I know (the tribal language of Ihumwa). Though, I tried to smile and greet a very small boy who was being held by his mother and he was absolutely spooked and started crying. That was a total ego-crusher, but we all couldn't help but laugh, including the mother and her friends. I can't imagine what it would be like to see a person with different skin for the first time as a young child!

At the market we bought a little pork and went back to Charley's house. I tried to help Charley cook, but his little kitchen filled with smoke and I wasn't strong enough to stay there long. Charley set up a mat right outside and the four of us tried to sort rice as he prepared the pork. Cooking on a charcoal stove takes a really long time because you first have to wait for it to get hot enough, and then you cook every dish one by one. We had a great time sitting outside waiting for the meal, though. The stars are incredible in the village, with no electricity they absolutely shine. We played around with Tula a bit making shadow puppets on the wall of their house from the fire of their stove. There is great peace in being there, with their family, at that time of the day, waiting for a meal. It's quite indescribable really, but those are the moments I know for certain change me, and will stay with me.

When it was time to eat, they set up a mat on their living room floor where we sat and were served giant portions of rice, beans, and pork. Charley's food is always so delicious, but Tanzanians are friends to oil, so I eat quickly and get filled quickly as well. After dinner, Charley said a night prayer, thanking God for his guests and for our meal and for the blessings life gives us. Sitting in candlelight, listening to him pray in Kiswahili is another moment I'm finding the words hard to find to describe.

Hannah, Cristina, and I shared a room with Tula (she's about 10), and Sean had his own mattress in another room. Charley's house is quite nice – four rooms and a living room space – but he's only renting it until his new home is completed – a simple two-room mud house. Nights in the village are perfectly quiet, but people in the village wake very early, so it wasn't long before we started hearing the neighbor kids chatting with Sean outside our window. In the morning, Mama Tula insisted we all shower before we leave, so I took my second village shower, in a tiny brick structure, from a bucket of water that is neither hot nor cold, in the morning under the blue sky. I think all showering experiences should be like that – it's just you and the heavens looking down on you.

We watched Charley make us chipati and soon we were enjoying chai and chipati. They sent us off with a basket full of mchicha (a spinach like leafy green) and a few onions and walked us to our dala stop. Leaving there always makes me wonder how different my experience would be if we lived in the village. I can't say village life is better or worse that life in town – it would quite simply be absolutely different.

The weekend before retreat we had been planning on taking Cristina and Hannah to a wedding for our friend J4 (Jumanne, which translates the 4^th day, or Tuesday) in Morogoro, but unfortunately his father died and they postponed the wedding. The rest of Saturday was packing and getting ready for our trip the next day.   

New Community

Here is is – the official start of year two and all the wonderful changes that come with the second year of this experience. Our new JVs have finally arrived – Cristina and Hannah!! - and we're officially in our new home. Cristina arrived in Dar on Monday morning, Hannah on Tuesday morning, and the Dar folks put them on a bus to Dodoma on Wednesday – poor girls! But they arrived in good spirits! After school on Wednesday, Marty, Sean, and I drove into town to pick them up and make our final move to the new house. We packed up Marty's Pajero with our bedsheets and final things, drove to the new place to drop everything off, and got a call from the girls that they should be arriving within the hour. Maybe it was a little foolish to try to officially move into that house the day they arrived, considering nothing was set up, nothing was really cleaned, and we only had mattresses, but at the same time I think Sean and I wanted to get this new community started with Cristina and Hannah as soon as possible, and what a better way of doing that than a little bonding in an empty house that will eventually become our home!

But even though we were all entering this dirty, empty house together, I was channeling my inner “Nance” (it's a quality I'm glad I inherited, Mom!) and decided to stay home and at least give the living room a good sweeping and moping before we slept on our mattresses on that floor. I think it was a little therapeutic for me to be alone in that house and mentally prepare for what I could absolutely not mentally prepare for – a completely, radically different year than the one that came before.

Marty and Sean finally arrived with two smiling (and shiny) faces (those bus rides are rough!), and it was a little surreal to help them move their things into the house. We've had many white-faced visitors come through Dodoma, but none that stayed longer than two weeks. Marty treated us to a nice dinner at the Pizzeria that is conveniently now walking distance from our house, and we chatted and laughed about life in the States, preparations before coming, funny fears of our friends, Washington D.C. (Cristina lived there for a few months), and San Francisco (where Hannah is from). It was a really nice evening.

When we got back to the house Cristina, Hannah, and I set up our mattresses with a few sheets under the fan in our living room. I remembered how hard it was for me to sleep the first few weeks of living in this country because of all the foreign noises outside (roosters in the morning, dogs at night, cows mooing, people talking in an unknown language, loud Bongo music), that I figured a nice “impromptu” sleepover would be fun for the first few days. Unfortunately it was impossible to set up mosquito nets, which I hadn't even thought of – one year malaria free! - but fortunately the house has pretty good screens so we weren't really bothered. Cristina, however, is experiencing much of the biting that I had when I first arrived, but she came prepared with a mosquito-tent-thing (which we are still laughing about) but it really helped her.

We were all so tired that I think we slept through the whole night, besides the early morning when we heard this ridiculous bird chirping almost inside of our house. It wasn't until a few days later, and a few more times of hearing this bird that we realized the bird is actually our doorbell which is connected to the gate!

Thursday morning Sean and I had to go to school for the last day of exams in the morning, and the girls got a ride in the afternoon to the school to be around for our faculty meeting and end-of-year staff get-together. Now as I'm thinking back at that staff meeting, I'm incredibly surprised at how far we've come as a staff, and how differently our colleagueship looks and I'm very happy about that. I think a lot of my own actions, assumptions, and ego had a real affect on how others interacted with me, and even though I thought I was always being “culturally sensitive and aware,” it is quite impossible for that to be your entire reality. I often got tripped up in the justice of my own existence here, the respect I deserved, when the reality of living in someone else's culture means you give up that privilege in order to respect them first. I wonder how this translates to my future work-life back in the States.

After the meeting where we recapped the year, the goods and the bads, we headed to the Jesuit residence with the rest of the staff for “snacks,” which ended up being close to a full meal (pork, 'chips,' salad, ground nuts, fried sweet bananas), and drinks, and music. I love how music and dancing is such a part of celebrating here. Turn it on and someone will stand up and start moving. I remember the first months of being here how uncomfortable that was for me, but now it feels so natural. So what you're the only person dancing! It's so normal. Life is meant to be enjoyed – so stand up and enjoy it!

Friday was house cleaning day for basically the entire day. We did extreme sweeping, mopping, washing walls, and dusting things that probably were never dusted. We had a blast! We just pumped the jams, told silly stories and enjoyed creating our new home. The cleaning actually lasted the entire next week, but at the end of that day we successfully pealed the layers of someone else's house off and could see the glimmer of our home coming through.

Our house has two showers, one with a faucet at our waist and the other with a tall shower head in the bathroom in Hannah's room. So bucket showers have finally become part of my daily life here in Tanzania – a very welcomed change. It's incredible how little water you truly need to take a decent shower. Anyways, Sean and I thought it would be a fun treat for our new community mates to go to the "Cathedral" (Club 84) for their first introduction to Bongo-flava and the dance culture of Tanzania. I absolutely won't go to this club unless our friend David comes along - he just makes the whole experience 100% more enjoyable for me - and thankfully he was totally on board. After our bucket showers, we all settled for a dinner on our floor sitting on the mats made by David's grandmother in Uganda (still waiting for a dinner table and all other furniture).  Though the club is now even closer than it was to our other house, it started to rain and so we took a taxi down the road.  The night was fun, though, and we all came back exhausted.

We slept in on Saturday and took a daladala in the afternoon to Mnadani, the meat market about 20 minutes outside of the city.  We treated the girls to their first plate of goat meat.  That was the perfect ending to our first few days together.

New House

These past few weeks have been a whirlwind. Really only two or three weeks ago, Sean and I had basically given up hope on a search for a new home. It just seemed like our ideas of a JV house and all others' ideas were not matching up so giving up and letting go seemed to make the most sense. Sean and I started having some really difficult conversations with the two German girls we were living with in order to resolve someone of the unnecessary tension by creating better schedules, etc. Unfortunately, the night after this conversation, the JVC office called us informing us that we had only two options about the house – move into a home suggested by the Jesuits that is absolutely the opposite of anything Sean and I had imagined for Jesuit Volunteers in Dodoma (it's huge, far away from other people, and in a nicer neighborhood than desired), or stay in our current living situation. They also sprang on us another volunteer – originally JVC had decided to only send one, but because of issues in Moshi they have decided to close down that site next year and consequently the new volunteer heading there is now being sent to us. To be honest, I was absolutely ecstatic about a fourth volunteer for Dodoma, but all this news was a lot to take in. Sean and I thought about it a lot and eventually decided it would be most helpful to us, and most appropriate to our new community to move into our own space. And that brings us up to this week...

We had been told months ago that the previous owners were considering leaving furniture if we were to take the place, but I guess too much time went by that they decided to move everything. And consequently, the house is entirely empty. I can't imagine setting up a new place in the States – but in Dodoma, Tanzania, with no car of our own, no idea of where to buy things or prices? Chaos. Thankfully Fr. Sossy has been an incredible support and help throughout the whole process, and has kindly lent us a few of his workers to assist in this process.

Saturday, Mzee January (Mzee is a honorable name for an old person – January is a driver/worker for the parish) and Angel (the parish bursar) took us to town to shop for the home basics, like kitchen and bathroom stuff. Even though we had a list of things we needed and there weren't very many selections, it was incredibly stressful picking out so many things for this house at one time. I'm sure we could have spread it out a little, but I knew it would be so much better to get as much done as possible, especially if we had a pickup to throw everything into! Otherwise Sean and I would be taking the crowded tiny public buses home with all our new purchases – not exactly the most fun thing. We drove the stuff right to the house and hid it in a closet.

Sunday after Mass and lunch with Fr. Kitui – a really great Jesuit who is only around until January unfortunately – I spent some time in my room packing things up. I have really accumulated a lot of crap over the year here. A lot of it is books and papers from being a teacher, letters and other things sent from home, and new clothes and materials that I've bought while I've been here. I'm excited to get rid of a lot of it when I set up my new room, but for now, it's going in the bag!

Oh, Saturday was also the start of final examinations at the school, so Monday Sean and I only had our “Pre-Form I” session because we don't sit exams until Wednesday. That was a great relief because Cristina is scheduled to arrive in TZA on Monday, Hannah on Tuesday, and we're hoping they get to Dodoma by Wednesday. We want to have some of the major moving done by then. So Monday afternoon we went back to town to pick up mattresses for our beds and a gas stove and cylinder. I always think foreign currency is so strange because, for example, we paid 240,000 Tanzanian shillings for four mattresses. That sounds insane, doesn't it? (240,000/= is about $185). There's a man at the parish (who I actually sing in the choir with!) named Veda who is a carpenter. He's making our beds and dining room table. The beds probably won't be done until the end of the week, so if we decide to move in when the girls get here on Wednesday, we may be sleeping on our mattresses on the floor for a few days! Better than cold floor, though! We're also going to try to pick out a couch and mini fridge in Dar es Salaam when we're there over Christmas – another insane thing in my mind, having to buy these things and get them moved to Dodoma. Sossy says its cheaper and better quality if we look in Dar.

Tuesday we had our last pre-form session with out students (we played the “I'm going on a picnic” game and wrote stories) and then finished up the rest of my packing. Mzee came back to our house and we loaded up pretty much everything that we own, including a small table from the storage space behind our house here (it belongs to the Jesuits). Our first piece of furniture! My things added up to close to 6 small bags and one giant one, but I packed up most of our community stuff, so I'm allowed to have more bags than Sean, right? For example, I used my entire small suitcase for our community's books. So there! My room is pretty bare now, besides my bedclothes, a few things for showering and my clothes for tomorrow. We've decided to stay one more night here – it would probably be really overwhelming to stay in that empty house tonight. And I'd feel the need to unpack, etc. I'm excited though; these past two weeks Sean and I have been watching the first season of “True Blood” together almost every night and we've saved the last episode for tonight. We usually watch it while we eat, which isn't so great for the community building, but I think it's done us good actually. We spend so much time together that it is hard not to always talk about the hard stuff. It's fun to forget about that and escape into another world every so often. Especially if that world involves Vampires! (Just kidding, kind of). (PS have you ever seen this show? Mom and Dad – don't do it! It's ridiculous. Sean and I had a little bit of culture shock watching it for the first time. I mean, I know vampires aren't really living in the States, but the humans in that show definitely exist. Yikes).

So tomorrow (Weds) morning, Sean and I are heading to Veyula (a village 18 km away) to see Sr. Immaculata take her final vows. Sr. Imma was our school nurse for most of the year until she went on a month retreat in preparation for her final vows. It will be great to see her again and celebrate with her and the other Sisters. Three of the Ivrea Sisters will be joining us as students next year at SPCHS and have been attending our pre-form sessions, so it will be great to know so many of them! I'm really looking forward to it. The day starts with Mass at 9:30am and a celebration lunch after. Sean and I will have to leave around noon, however, because we're sitting for the last exam at school at 2:45pm. (The students have 2 or 3 exams per day, each is 2 hours).  

Packages and the Parliament

Sunday I was incredibly tired – like, the kind of tired where you're not sure you're still alive when you first wake up in the morning because your body doesn't want to move. I slept in and hung around the house pretty much all day. My only goal for that day was to finish up the gifts I wanted to send home to the USA. I have to say, there may not be anything too special in those packages but they were incredibly fun to put together! I am praying they make it in time for Christmas. (Please please please!!!).

Monday as usual, we had our morning pre-form session. I don't have class at school until 3:20pm (9^th period Advise), so I headed straight to the post to mail away these packages. It's getting too close to Christmas now, so I wanted to do it ASAP. I met the lady who works in the post store (selling envelopes, tape, stamps, etc.) who has become my friend over the months. I bought stronger tape on my way to the Post to seal them all up and she insisted on helping me tape. Consequently, after about 20 minutes and almost half a roll of tape (she went crazy – no one's getting in those boxes!) I excitedly brought my packages up to the other Mama to see how much it would cost (this Mama is nice if you butter her up with a lot of Kiswahili, otherwise she can be a little grumpy). She was kind enough to inform me that I needed to check customs for a package this size – you know, customs, as in they have to see what is INSIDE my package BEFORE I tape it up with a half a roll of tape and a waste of 20 minutes. I think I almost cried, which was very uncalled for, but I just didn't know when I would be able to get back to the Post, and at that moment it felt that any second longer I wanted was a guarantee these dumb boxes wouldn't get there in time. They both were really sorry, handing out the “pole”s left and right (pole, “sorry”). Not sure why lady #1 didn't mention this before all our work, but it's my fault not theres. Anyway – I rushed to school and made it right on time, but really tired and dehydrated from my lengthy excursion. It's really hot now!

I woke up with a dreadful headache on Tuesday – it's the rainy season, which means every other week it might rain once, but I think that's what brought on the headache. It was the kind too that makes my stomach hurt so bad that I think I might throw-up, so I talked with Sean and decided to stay home from our morning class. He actually had been feeling pretty bad too the past few days (I really hope not from our Thanksgiving dinner!) and didn't go to class on Monday, so he instead took my computer and a movie that Maura sent - “Despicable Me” (excellent movie, seriously watched it 4 times already) and we called it an English lesson. I went back to bed, but decided around 9am to try the Post again. There was no way I'd be able to teach for a few hours without being a complete B*%#^ (from the headache, doi) but I needed to move around. I decided to take a risk and not reopen my packages until the Customs person told me to because I wasn't about to wrap these bad boys all over again.

Unfortunately, the Customs man is probably the most terrifying person in this country – we have to go to him when we pick up packages from the States that are above a certain weight/price. He hates smiling and kind words. I think he's allergic to me. Anyways, when I saw him I thought for sure he'd make me open them but when I explained what ridiculous things were inside (can't go into detail here but basically things that mean a lot to me but have really no value here), he rolled his eyes and made me write it all down and sign the customs slip. After slamming the stamp onto both sheets and handing them too me, I gingerly got up not sure if we were through and quite frankly, terrified to ask it we were through when he gave me the go with a short “nenda” (go) I got the heck out of there. The Mama was excited to see me again when I had the slips attached and gave me like 100 stamps (not kidding) to paste all over these boxes. You'd think 10,000 tsh stamps existed, but apparently not because I got 67,500 tsh stamps in 2,000s, 1,000s, and 500s. Ridiculous. Basically it took me about 10 full minutes to puzzle piece these stamps all over the fronts of these packages – actually, Dad and Maura: you should probably take pictures of those boxes. It's humorous really. The most exciting moment was finally handing the freshly stamped boxes and walking out the door. I met Sean at home and we both spent the day in bed, basically with stomach issues that kept us close to the choo (toilet). Verdict came back that at least two other friends were also sick from after Thanksgiving, so it had to be something we ate. The others keep blaming it on the turkey fat (but who ate turkey FAT? ew) but who knows! I'm just glad they're not pointing fingers at me!

This week was actually a really unfortunate week to get sick because my students were giving ethics presentations in which Teacher Roland, Teacher Sean and I were voting for the best group in each class and we (especially me, their teacher) needed to be there. But Roland is great and he really took interest in the whole project. Thank God for him!

The past few weeks in my ethics class we've been discussing the value of “justice.” We started out talking about wants vs needs, then talked about rights especially the UN's list of children's rights, and later talked about justice, how both knowledge and action are necessary. At the end of it, I brought up five serious issues in Tanzania (and almost every other country really, but we used real cases from Tanzania so it was more relevant) regarding children. The goal was to create presentations as if we were part of the Bunge (parliament) of Tanzania and we wanted to address and solve the issue. I assigned five groups in each stream, about 6-7 students per group. Each “committee” was assigned an issue: 1. low number of people having birth certificates, 2. low numbers of children attending secondary school, 3. low numbers of girls attending primary school, 4. trafficking of children, 5. street children. Each committee was supposed to give a presentation which included an explanation of the issue, which rights are being violated because of it's existence, and short and long term plans for fixing the problem for good.

The presentations ended up being so-so. I know I asked a lot and didn't give them much time to prepare, and I was impressed with what they did come up with. Actually, the most impressive part of the whole experience was how their classmates asked challenging and relevant questions after each presentation. I can tell some of them are really thinking these things through, which is excellent! After seeing all presentations, Roland, Sean, and I chose the best group for each topic and announced a Bunge session for the following Friday. The students did pretty well – they still need a lot of work in terms of public speaking, but they tried their hardest. Some groups ended up talking much longer than expected, and consequently we ran out of time for questions which was the part I was really looking forward to. But this was a first time! We're planning on using my lesson plans for ethics class next year and we'll be able to spend more time with this whole thing. I'm looking forward to that! At the end of our Parliament session, we treated the committees to soda and karanga (peanuts). It was a success! And that pretty much wrapped up my classes for the year!

St. Peter Shenanigans

So the students (and teachers!) were lucky because not only did we have a Wednesday holiday for Id, but we suspended school for the following Friday! Friday, September 9, is the feast day of our patron, St. Peter Claver. All classes and normal activities were cancelled to make way for a day of celebrating our school. Those of us from town got to sleep in a little bit (1 whole hour!) and caught the bus at 8am instead of 7am. The students' normal schedule during the week is 6:30am Mass followed by breakfast (ugi – a kind of porridge), school assembly, and then classes commence at 8am. This particular Friday the students took their porridge later than usual, had a few hours of practice for the entertainment part of the day, chai around 10am as usual (chai is usually tea with bread, or fried dough balls (mandazi), or fried tortillas (chipati)).

Around 11am we moved all the chairs in our multi-purpose hall (truly multi-purpose because the students take their meals there, and did their practice there, AND we have Mass there) and started Mass. Our students can sometimes get a little high-school-ish (slouching, not singing, etc), but Fr. Sossy was sure to call them out on it and ask for a better effort. When they all sing together, it truly is magical. I wish they could realize that.

It's always neat to share afternoons like this with my students. Mass is a special space for people of East Africa. People of all faiths take “Let us pray” very seriously. Fr. Marty likes to joke that if there is chaos ensuing because of whatever issue, you could yell out “let us pray!” to our students and heads would bow and silence would follow. So being able to experience Mass with them is wonderful.

After Mass, the students started the “entertainment” segment – I find this funny because they just entertain themselves! There were no guests besides a few extra Jesuits and us teachers, but that's okay. I was highly entertained! I love love love seeing the students perform. Some of them create choreographed dances, some sing songs, others make up poem/songs about the school, and one group made a great skit about St. Peter Claver. I pretty much smile profusely and laugh every other minute throughout the whole thing. It's great seeing them open up and be fun, especially the ones I think are quiet! Who knew a little bit of music could change some of them completely!

The best part of the day for the students (and obviously me too!) was our special day lunch – fried chicken and chips (fried potatoes) and katchumbali (onion/tomato salad). Delicious! Sean, David, and I are now planning our own dancing segment for the next talent show. We'll see if that happens!

Oh PS – A new volunteer joined us at SPCHS. His name is Roland and he's from England. I think he's 28? and he's teaching math. I like him a lot. He reminds me of my big brother, John :). Can't get better than that, right?!

Id al Fitr

If you've seen any of my pictures on Facebook, you'll see some fun ones from the end of August, Sean is wearing a long white cassock and I am in a long purple gown with my head wrapped like a hijab. We were, in fact, dressing for the occasion because our friends were celebrating the Muslim holiday of Id al Fitr. The holiday was in the middle of the week and because it was a national holiday, we were off of school that day. As many of my friends explained, this siku kuu (special day) is comparable to the holiday of Christmas for Christians; it is a very important day when Muslims have finished their fast of Ramadan and now celebrate by cooking a feast (and giving gifts, I think!). We've spent some time with this family before school started, and their daughter Nasrah is our student. Mama and Baba Nasrah invited Sean, David, and I to their Id celebration, which was very exciting for me to witness the colorful celebration of the Islam faith! David also wore his cassock, brought from his home in Uganda (it is a traditional Ugandan wear for celebrations).

We hadn't been to their home for a few months, so when we arrived the first thing we did was check around their compound to see the “new additions.” Both Mama and Baba Nasrah are very bright business people, and they keep thousands of chickens (egg-layers) and quite a few cattle to add to their business profits. They added a new chicken home and a few hundred chickens since the last time we visited. They also had a new baby cow, appropriately named 'Ramadhan' for his birth was during the fast. It is quite the sight to see!

We entered their house and were served some freshly made juice (passion, mango, avocado, etc.). Delicious! My favorite part of the day came next – two of their “priests” (I think Muslim superiors are also called priests) came over to say a prayer for the deceased. Nasrah's aunt wrote up a list of the people they wished to pray for, and the two men started singing in Arabic, lighting an incense-type thing, and the rest of the family chanted along. It was absolutely beautiful watching this happen and hearing the unfamiliar words. Remarkably, the whole experience wasn't too far from something we'd do at a Catholic Church though – lighting incense, naming each of the deceased and chanting songs to invoke God's blessings upon them.

The rest of the day included feasting on chips (fried potatoes), kachumbali (fresh veggie salad), pilau na bata (spiced rice with duck), ngegere (peas in tomato coconut sauce), and lots of sodas. They laughed and loved our attire, and remarked on my fresh coat of henna on my nails (many Muslims here die their fingernails with henna, but so do many other Tanzanians!). I did my best to dress for the special day! After eating and drinking loads (no beer – Muslims don't typically drink alcohol), Nasrah's family drove us back to our home, a bag full of eggs in hand as a zawadi (gift). It was exactly how I love to spend a day off.

Celebrations

On Saturday Sean and I were invited for the wedding of our friend Magdalena, a cleaner at our school. She, too, has a child of a few years and is maybe only a few years older than me. The wedding was Saturday afternoon. Sean and I thought it proper to attend the actual ceremony, but upon arrival we soon realized that not many (read, none) of our other friends agree. But the wedding was interesting. The church was maybe only a fourth full, and there were actually three brides all being wedded at the same time. Magdalena read the first reading herself, and another groom (not hers) read the second reading. The time came for exchanging vows and there was a small card passed from couple to couple to read the necessary words. Exchanging of rings happened one after the other as well, with an emphasis on lifting of the hand high and placing the ring on the other's finger. The last part of the wedding is the signing of the marriage license (or maybe signing the Church's book?). The wedding wasn't very long – maybe an hour and a half. When it was over, the three newly wedded couples stand at the altar and everyone goes up to congratulate them. After a procession out of the church, a group of women stood in a circle and began singing traditional songs and dancing traditional dances as others clapped and made noise. It was incredible.

We had about two hours until the reception was to start – it was held at the Youth Centre where we worked, very near to the parish and our house – so we returned home to rest for a while. We decided not to go right on time, because from past experience we know that nothing ever starts on time. We ended up meeting a few friends for a drink and some chicken (we also never eat until late) and headed to the reception about 2.5 hours after the official “start.” We walked in right as things were beginning!

It was great because all of our friends from school also went – a few of the other teachers, one of the drivers, some of the cooks, a few people who work in the office. We all sat together (facing the direction of the bride and groom) and watched things happen. There was an MC as usual, some entertainment such as a few people dancing and then present time came. The group of us from Peter Claver went in together to buy a bunch of things Marg needed for her house. When Peter Claver was called, we all went to the back, collected cups, bowls and plates, gathered in a group and danced the items up to the bride and groom. For some reason, Marg didn't show a single smile almost the whole night, but finally she cracked a big one to see us all dancing around her. Later, we danced kitenge (printed material used for making dresses) and trouser material up to her parents and draped them around the two, who sat expectantly in the front.

The whole night was incredibly fun. Sean and I were just one of the group, not given special treatment as we usually do. It's actually quite a relief to not have special seats or be told to do something by ourselves. And I loved spending time with our school friends outside of work. Usually our 30 minute bus rides to and from is where we can be silly and joke around, but this was totally removed from work and everyone just enjoyed each other.

The party continued the next weekend when Sean decided to buy a goat with one of our bus drivers. Our bus driver, Mtaki, told Sean he knew how to kill and prepare goat, and Sean must be blood thirsty (teasing!) after he killed and prepared a chicken in our backyard with David, so they decided to do it together. They bought the live goat from Mtaki's neighbor and took it to the Jesuits' residence to prepare. It took them most of the day. Sean invited almost every employee of the parish to our house for “mbuzi.” It was so much fun to have all these people in our living room, eating goat, drinking beer and soda, and laughing together. They are such wonderful people. Like most gatherings, we went around the room and did introductions, even though everyone knew each other. Everyone laughed when I introduced myself as “Neema” (Grace) and said, “Rose ni shostito wangu” (Rose is my best, best friend). After the whole goat was eaten, we found some music and had a little dance party in the middle of our crowded room.  

Feast day

Our weekends have been full of exciting events these past few weeks. In the midst of our English friends, the Sunday of July 31^st was the feast day of St. Ignatius and therefore there was a tremendous celebration at the parish. The parish which is informally called “K/Ndege” (airport parish, because it sits close to the Dodoma airport), is actually a parish named for St. Theresa Ledokoska. Because the Jesuits are assigned to this parish, St. Theresa's feast day meets her match with the feast of the founder of the Society of Jesus – St. Ignatius of Loyola.

That Sunday, all four Masses were combined for one massive 8:30am celebration Mass. Our Peter Claver students made their way into town to join the St. Ignatius primary students and the rest of the parish community to pray together in commemoration of St. Ignatius. All the choirs were combined which made for an incredible Mass. I sat next to our rather unenthusiastic students (high schoolers are all the same!), but I enjoyed the Mass nonetheless. The liturgical dancers were on their best game (the young girls and boys who dance to the beautiful music in the aisles of the church) – I love love love them.

After Mass, all of the small Christian communities from around Dodoma (each village has it's own small community) gathered in their designated spots. There was an MC and some entertainment. The Jesuits hosted us volunteers and some of the other religious (the Sisters and other collaborators) at their home for sodas and snacks (sambusa, chipati, karanga) until lunch was announced. Apparently each small Christian community invited a Jesuit or one of the Jesuit volunteers for lunch, but I missed this memo and instead ate lunch with the Peter Claver crew. It was a beautiful afternoon; it was incredible to see so many people gathered around the church. Each small Christian community brought their own food to share with their group and anyone that passed empty handed. I visited for a while with our students and some of our friends who work at our school, the teachers from St. Ignatius, and later I stopped over to visit with my choir friends (upset, as usual, that I hadn't sang with them that morning – I'm working on it!).

I had promised my friend Agnes that I'd visit her home this Sunday, and so we walked together to her home in Chang'ombe. Walking with my friends to their homes in the neighborhoods around Dodoma feels like I'm passing into territory not yet explored. I know this is a bit of an exaggeration, but it is hard not to feed off of Agnes' excitement about me visiting her home, and the surprise on the faces of neighbors who very rarely see a white face pass by. Agnes' house was a 20 minute walk from the parish, walking straight into the hot sun. “Umechoka?” (are you tired?) is a question that often comes from a walk with a friend that lasts more than 10 minutes. Absolutely not!

We reached her house and I was surprised at how nice the place was. It was a large home enclosed by a hefty gate. We walked in and greeted one Mama doing laundry and a child cleaning the compound. Like most homes such as this one, it is very unlikely for only one family to live inside, and this house was no different. Agnes, her “husband,” and their child actually rent only one room in the house where they live. Their bedroom, living room, and store (a pantry of sorts) is all in one room. Like most families, Agnes cooks on a charcoal pot outside and shares a bathroom with all the other occupants in the home.

In Tanzania (and most other East African countries), it is more typical to have a child before a wedding happens, hence why I put Agnes' husband in quotes. They are not officially married – not in the Church yet – but they live as a married couple, with their daughter Happy, and Agnes calls him her husband. This is a cultural thing and happens no matter one's religion. I could try to articulate as to why this is different from how we do things in the States, but that would be unfair of me, an outsider, and probably never truly accurate. I do know though that obtaining a bride is very expensive (the man's family must pay a bride price), and the wedding isn't something so cheap either. I can't say this is the reason, but I think it is fair to say this is a factor.

I sat in their room as Agnes ran to the nearby duka (store) to buy me a soda. Her husband is a teacher at a secondary school in town and also a teacher for the second choir at K'Ndege parish so we had lots to talk about. Soon we were watching a video recording of the choir that Agnes and I both sing in. It is pretty normal for some of the better choirs here to make music videos. They mostly consist of singing the gospel songs and dancing in sync in beautifully matching uniforms. It was fun to finally watch one with faces I could actually recognize! It was fun because Agnes and I played a name game every time we saw a new person's face. Even though I've been singing in the choir for months now, I have to (shamefully) admit I know maybe four people's names. Not only do I have a hard time remembering, I also find it hard to get a time to talk to every person there.

I enjoyed playing with their little girl, Happy. Happy is a common name here – also, Goodluck, Godness, Shukuru (thanks). I have yet to meet a Happy who does not live up to her name. This girl was sweet and constantly laughing. Sometimes kids are very shy around the mzungu, so I'm relieved and pleased when they warm right up to me. (Bringing pipi (candies) always helps). As usual, Agnes walked me most of the way home when it was finally time to leave – just in time for a phone call from Dad.

Scheme of Work

School started again the 17^th of July, and my new start came with a new term completely different from the last. To be honest, I felt quite useless last semester, not having enough work and not feeling I was doing it so well left me feeling completely unproductive. It was tough to go from over-active university student to underemployed (and unexperienced) teacher in another country. I think I had a little bit of motivation-lack last semester, too, because I wasn't sure how helpful I could be in this country teaching some of the already most educated students. Remembering my “Oprah approach” from university (when the atmosphere was low in our senior year dorm, I'd call for “Oprah” where we could only say positive things – I think Katie O and I appreciated it the most, right KTO?). I started this with myself (failing a lot at first, but it has helped my attitude for sure). How can I best help these young minds, the very ones sitting right in front of me?

This term I began teaching Values/Ethics instead of Study Skills/Speech. This is my chance to really get into their minds and help them think differently, the way my own college experienced changed me completely. This class is an absolute challenge for me, because of my own hopes and goals, and consequently I'm doing ten times more work to design creative lesson plans that not only my students will enjoy, but that I'll enjoy teaching. This is kind of like being back at school for me, researching, taking notes, and preparing presentations – I love it. My empty Mondays now fly by because of all the reading and thinking and planning. I'm exhausted when I go home now, but in a “I've done something today!” kind of way.

Now how do you teach a Values/Ethics class to a group of Tanzanian high schoolers? I'm still asking myself that question, but each class is a trial run for the next so I can fine-tune things. Their school song has set up my scheme of work nicely: the tune includes, “some of the values we are called to cherish are love, compassion, truth, justice, hardworking, and respect for others, kindness, sharing, and honesty.” Bam! There's our syllabus, touching on each value and how we can use these to make better decisions for our own lives and for many social issues happening in our world today. (I'm praying I do justice to this hefty objective).

I'm loving this class though, because as I challenge the students to think about how they are generous or loving people, I find myself asking myself the same questions. It has unintentionally become a sort of personal evaluation of my own life, my life here, and a examination of my conscience. How lucky am I?

We are finally ready to begin our Religion course and I have been trying to plan a general outline for our semester. I have a team of three other teachers (Sean, Victor and Antonie who are scholastics) who will help teach the class to the other streams. This has been interesting all in its own, trying to coordinate with the others and plan useful lessons, considering the class is only one hour every Friday.

Besides the English lessons Sean and I assist with (we pull struggling students from each stream twice a week to work individually with their English), we are trying to revamp our “Advisement” class to become much more intentionally a service learning class, mimicking experiences we've had at our Jesuit universities for better reflection after service at the Cheshire home. From personal experience, it is nearly pointless to do any service if there is not a personal and spiritual reflection coinciding with the work you've done. It is helping the students process things.

So though I still have daily challenges (when lessons flop, or when I feel unappreciated by the students or other teachers), things are definitely getting better. This is where you say, “That's what real life is, Laura. Difficult people never go away.” And this is when I say, “Bring it on.”

A New Start

My first few weeks back in Dodoma were incredibly busy with so many unexpected happenings. I walked into my house to find everything under construction – a complete surprise. The Jesuits decided to turn our unnecessary “reception” room into another bedroom, and add a functioning bathroom to the dormitory that sits next to our house in our compound (I believe it was originally a small chapel for the priest who used to live in this house years ago, but has recently acquired many beds for housing guests). That was a little chaotic because there were always many people walking around (and through) our house, and the house collected gallons of dust from the construction. I'm actually much luckier than Jana and Sean who were living here throughout the whole thing and had to keep up with the cleaning. Yuck!

During this week I got back there was also an international gathering of Jesuit educators taking place at Peter Claver, coordinated by Fr. Marty and Fr. Martin Schreiber. Simultaneously, the remedial English workshop for our struggling English language learners at Peter Claver (that Sean and I planned for) was continuing. So Sean and I spent our mornings with the folks from the States and some East African Jesuit educators at school for half of their seminar, and the afternoons we spent with our students at the Youth Centre.

The seminar was great; we had the chance to reflect on what Jesuit education is supposed to be, and compare successes and struggles in this endeavor. One of the strangest things I realized during our conversations is how different (and challenging) my task is as an American Volunteer teaching in a Tanzanian school. I'm not an East African, who belongs to this culture, this school system, this history, and I'm not an American educator with any kind of education-education, or teaching in a system I'm more familiar with, with students in which I can better understand their personal stories. This realization has made me stop identifying with both crowds and realize that I have to figure out my own way to navigate this teaching experience – a task I am probably more ready for this time around.

Unfortunately I only spent a few days with our ELL learners, because the workshop actually started two weeks prior to my return. But these kids have improved immensely from this extra attention, speaking much more confidently and asking helpful questions. I was so happy, because of all our students at Peter Claver, these ones appreciate their education and want so desperately to do better, to understand English.

I came down with a fever on Thursday morning, and missed the outing with the other teachers and later the time with our students. I stayed in bed praying it wasn't malaria. I was sick for about two days and then felt pretty normal on Saturday. This quick fever thing has happened to me once before (when I thought I had malaria) so I'm assuming it wasn't malaria again, but who knows. I'll probably get tested three years from now and the doctor will find malaria! But I was grateful for the quick recovery.

That weekend after I felt better, I did a serious cleaning of my room to get rid of all the dust and decided to rearrange a little. I moved my desk, my bed, and my bookshelf and put up an inspiration wall of sorts full of cards from home and pictures drawn by my students. A new room was my metaphor for a new start. It felt good.

We soon found out all the remodeling for the dormitory next door was for a group of English high school boys who would be staying there for a few days. The Jesuit primary school here has a partnership with a Jesuit high school in London. This school brings it's students here (and also an incredible donation to the school) for a two-week immersion where the boys stay with families during the week but stay in our dorm on the weekends. It was fun having their group around. They boys were really excited and very polite, and their teachers were fun. They stayed with us two weekends before they went on safari and headed home.

This week also brought a new volunteer to our house – Nelly from Germany. She's a “gap-year” student; in Germany, after high school students have one year (the gap year) before they continue to university. Many students do volunteer work during this time. She'll be staying with us for one year and will work at the primary school and Cheshire home like Jana. Jana only has a little time left here – she'll be returning home in mid-September.

Going home

The term came to a close June 17th, with final exams the following week. My first semester at Peter Claver didn't pan out quite how I expected and I was grateful for the coming retreat and break that could let me escape a little and reestablish priorities and goals for my time here. Sean and I left for Dar on Monday June 20th for our third retreat at the Mbagala spiritual center. We were hoping the retreat center was on the beach in Dar, but unfortunately it was in the middle of the city. However, upon arriving there the place was exotically decorated with beautiful gardens, trees, grass huts for outside reflection, and as always, our own rooms – a paradise in the middle of chaos. It was so peaceful.

As always, we nine volunteers spend the week discussing our lives in Tanzania, our work, our communities, everything that influences us. There always seems to be at least one volunteer experiencing the challenges that I find myself struggling with, and it is completely refreshing to be able to sit with each other in our confusion, pain, hopes, triumphs. The week always speeds by faster than I wish, but I leave retreat with a new sense of direction.

On Friday we took a trip to the beach to relax for the day. The Indian Ocean is breathtaking, the water feels delicious, and the sand between my toes is always a welcomed therapy. The journey to the beach takes a little over two hours from the volunteers house because of the hectic Dar traffic, but there is something normal about it, something familiar about the voyage which makes me feel more at home in this country that hardly resembles home in the US.

The Moshi volunteers headed back on Saturday morning, and Sean and I spent a few days with the Dar folks. On Sunday we attended a communion party for a family who has been friends with the JVs in Dar for years. Sean and I had spent some time with this family over Christmas, so they recognized us and invited us as they invite all family into their home. The celebration was like most Tanzanian celebrations – chairs all facing forward towards the person being celebrated, champagne opening, “cheers”-ing, dancing of the gifts, cake feeding, and finally food and dancing. The day was wonderful, being squeezed into a tiny living room with so many smiling faces, little children to dance with and the laughter that is inevitable from our excitement or our slight embarrassment. And this family is so familiar with white faces that we didn't receive the usual special treatment, much to my relief. It is sometimes nice to be able to sit back and enjoy like everyone else, without always being on display. We returned home late, exhausted but with renewed hearts.

Monday morning, Sean and the Dar folks got up early and started their journey to Zanzibar, the island off the coast of Tanzania for a few days of holiday. I remained behind at the Dar house out of the kindness of Shea, Cat, and Gretchen to wait for Tuesday afternoon to catch my flight back to the States. Monday I enjoyed the quiet of their home, washed some clothes, packed my bag, went out to buy some veggies and cooked myself a nice dinner. (I'm realizing how much I value quiet alone time.)

Tuesday morning I called for my cab to pick me up obnoxiously early just in case of excess traffic getting to the airport. (I left at noon for my 4:30pm flight). I packed myself some snacks, went to the Jesuits to check status on my flight, and headed there with a kind cabdriver who picked me up right at the Jesuits' place. I travelled only with a tiny book bag and a basket – I was only going to be home for about six days so there was no point in bringing a lot. It was exhilarating to travel with so little on a flight so far.

I had a slight scare when I finally got to the airport and found myself waiting to check in (I was too early to even do that!). I was looking at my ticket and saw that my flight was scheduled at 4:30AM, not PM like I had previously thought. I started sweating and almost started crying, and decided to run to the ladies sitting at the Emirates counter. I explained in broken Kiswahili what had happened, and she took my ticket, looked at it thoroughly and remarked it with pen to say PM. I guess when I printed the damn thing, the AM looked more highlighted than AM. My mistake, but the women were so kind and I think a little warmed by my honest effort to communicate (poorly) my distress in Kiswahili. From there she checked me in, picked out some really great seats, and told me to wait another two hours for the official check-in time. Silly me.

When the time finally came, we laughed at each other as I approached her desk once again. I next walked to the “Residents of East Africa” booth where they would check my passport and let me through to the gate. (I felt so cool going to the residents booth when all the other people looked at me like I was confused). At the gate I waited another two hours to be able to officially start my journey home.

So, it's not usual for a volunteer to return home during their service, but I had a pretty rough first few months here realizing I wouldn't be around for Greg and my family during his wedding. If I've learned anything from my big brother, it's that family is a non-negotiable; being present to them and giving time to be with them is so important. Of course, I always believed that but of anyone, I think Greg embodies “family” to me. I was a wreck knowing I'd be absent, and so began the three month-long discernment on what was the “greater good,” staying, supporting from afar, and being in solidarity with the people around me that will never in their lives be able to afford a plane ticket such as the one I was about to obtain, or going and being with Greg, Kate, and my family for one week that I will never experience again in my life. The latter won out, and I'm so glad it did.

Going home was good for me in so many ways that really only three weeks later am I realizing the benefits of seeing my family and feeling their love and support (and hugs, oh how I miss their hugs). The plane rides were actually bliss for me – 28 hours of transport (one way, of course), but it came with the privilege of anonymity and silence. I find myself so often calculating my every move in my life here, where to go next, what to say next, how to act, agonizing about how I think things should be, how I should be, and not feeling alive from this daily life. The plane allowed me guilt free hours of ignoring those thoughts and pretending my life was completely normal. I had an incredible talk with my parents the moment I got home about how I perceive my life here, about how I feel about myself, and about how things have ended up. I think sharing so much with them in my home, my safe space, allowed my mind and heart to sort out so many of my emotions that have been so deeply wrapped up in life here that it was impossible to untangle them without completely ripping myself from their source.

I arrived on Wednesday, the 29th of July and was able to see a few friends before we traveled to Harrisburg area for the wedding weekend on Friday. Friday evening was the rehearsal and dinner with Kate's family. It was awesome to see my siblings and to meet Kate's beautiful family. The wedding was Saturday afternoon and the Heid kids and all of Greg's friends stayed at the bed and breakfast where the wedding took place. That morning we woke up, fixed the whole place up, ate some pizza (yuuumm!) and got ready for the wedding. It was a beautiful ceremony outside, the perfect place for Greg and Kate, and I was so happy to see all my extended family. Sunday morning we all gathered for a nice luncheon at the Dyson's place. What a weekend! I enjoyed every minute with my family, but saying goodbye to Carrie, Dan, Greg, and Kate was maybe harder than the first time, I think because the visit was so short.

Monday and Tuesday at home were well spent with John, Dad, and Mom, and a few visits with my home friends. The inevitable Wednesday finally came and I had to leave for the airport at 4am. I hardly slept that night, finishing packing and just thinking about leaving. Overall the trip home was horribly short, but in all honestly I think if it were any longer I would have gotten too comfortable. So after our last goodbye (and Dad's last picture), I left my parents and took the too familiar lonely walk through security. I bought myself a ridiculous girly magazine to keep myself from realizing what just happened (what I mean is, to keep me from realizing I was at home and already on my way back).

The journey back was again another welcomed escape from real life, a black hole of sorts where I get to disappear into myself, into another world where I can think or not think for an entire day. Arriving in Dar on Thursday, the 7th of July wasn't as strange as I thought it might be. In fact, I felt so familiar back in this world, but as a different person; a more honest, more stable version of the me who left a week before.

What protects our hearts

I’ve been really into Ingrid Michaelson (she’s a singer) for a while now, but in particular the past few months. Her elegant voice gliding along notes paired with piano melodies and a strumming guitar and the occasional percussion emphasis brings more peace to me than most anthems I find on the small expensive handheld machine that pumps music to my ears.

Her song, “Breakable,” has always been my most loved – the lyrics simply intrigue me…

“Have you ever thought about what protects our hearts?
Just a cage of rib bones and other various parts.
So it’s fairly simple to cut right through the mass,
and to stop the muscle that makes us confess.
And we are so fragile and our cracking bones make noise
and we are just breakable, breakable, breakable girls and boys.”

These honest words always stop my thoughts right there and cause me to wonder. It’s true, right? We as human beings really are delicate and can at any moment be “broken.” We’re fragile though only when we allow ourselves this state of vulnerability, a state of being that many of us refuse or, in the very least, find it extremely difficult to indulge upon.

This song has reminded me of a concept that fellow volunteer friends use as a means of evaluating how much their “service” has “changed” them.

We talk about how our service can break our hearts – shatter them, actually, but only if you’re really lucky. What does this mean? Why would anyone want their heart broken? Well, if you live in such a way that you let the lives and love of others tear your heart open so much that it hurts – that it breaks – only then will you finally see Love, only then might you change.

Instead of trying to avoid this heart break, it is part of the mission of true service, true justice, to allow yourself to be broken into a million pieces because that is the moment you are at your most vulnerable. That is the moment you have broken down all walls, all hesitations, all previous expectations, all preconceived ideas, and can allow yourself to see the person in front of you and love them just as they are.

It is a gift, really, when a person with a life so much harder than you could ever imagine invites you into their struggle, into their life. It is a blessing when they share their family with you, their home with you, and their heart. It is a prayer when they hug you and invite you to sit on their tiny wooden chair and offer you beans and ugali, the dish they make for every meal, and insist you eat a second helping.

But sometimes you can live these moments and as they happen, you recognize the beauty of their life and of your friendship, but you leave their house still unbroken. You can bake them cakes and take them candies, without ever recognizing your action might bring momentary happiness but can never change their circumstances. In fact, eventually you realize that your treats are nice, but you are constantly bringing them evidence of your privilege, though because of their generous sympathy they forgive you for it.

I think I’ve become stuck in this mission to be broken, which is a little paradoxical because the breaking usually happens organically. It is usually the surprise toy at the bottom of the box when all you were really digging for were extra sugared raisins. Maybe I’ve poked a hole right through the other side without recognizing this cereal also has nuts, and dried blueberries, and those yummy sugar-cinnamon covered oatmeal crunchies, a combination that leaves your tummy completely delighted and makes you forget about the plastic Dora-the-Explora toy.

So how does one start over after a seven month search? To be honest, the “let go let God” thing is getting old. I’m a go-getter, a “do-good-er,” a can’t-sit-around-and-wait-er. In fact, that’s why I visit so many of my friends, why I accept the invitations into their battles for survival and allow my eyes and ears to see and hear this tragic truth. What am I missing? Have I seen too much that now my heart is numb? Am I protecting myself from something without knowing it? I feel like I’ve skipped so far ahead of myself I have no idea where my tracks have come from. I guess for now I just need to hold on to the idea that we are all just breakable girls and boys, and hope that God will help my heart shatter.

Dedication Day

For the past two months we’ve been spending our Friday religion period preparing for the Dedication Day, a “grand opening” of sorts for St. Peter Claver High School. Fr. Marty had asked me before arriving in Tanzania to coordinate the religion program and curriculum. I was totally on board, though he and I both didn’t realize how difficult the task would end up to be. Tanzania has an incredible tolerance for all religions; so much in fact, that our Catholic high school intended to offer separate classes for our Catholic-Christian, Protestant-Christian, and Muslim students, all the while maintaining in all other aspects its Catholic (and Jesuit!) identity. For this to work, the school has to ask the diocese to find the Protestant and Muslim teachers – we must go through the diocese to assure these teachers are of good standing. For whatever reason, the diocese has not been able to get back to us about the others teachers, and to be fair we had postponed all religion classes until these things get figured out (though next semester we’re considering doing a more general religion course for all students – should be interesting!)

Anyways, back to the grand opening: The Friday afternoon religion class became a practice time to learn the goings of the Mass and some of the songs (our students attend Mass every morning at 6:30am, even on Saturdays!). With Dedication Day coming soon, we now switched gears into entertainment for the big day. In Tanzania, big events like this have a particular order of events. Things vary according to the type of events, but basically a hired MC begins by introducing every important person in the room, then comes some sort of entertainment (singing or dancing), then more talking about why we are gathered, then entertainment, then giving of gifts or awards, more entertainment, and lastly we always end with a big buffet of traditional Tanzanian foods. Oh, and these events can never last less than five hours.

Practicing started out slow for our students, but as the day drew nearer they really got into it. The entire week before we had a special practice period in the middle of the day. Dedication Day is a big deal for the school, for the Jesuits, and for Tanzania. St. Peter Claver has a widely known reputation already – in fact, the name of Peter Claver was talked about even before students stepped foot on the campus. Invitations were sent to every important person in the nation, including the president. In fact, the president, many members of Parliament, and some other important people were expected to come (rumors were around since I arrived) but a meeting in Dar kept them all away (as neat as it would have been to meet the president, I did feel sad for the school – it would have been really special to have him there).

One group of students prepared a skit depicting the life of Peter Claver (created by Fr. Kizito), and it was actually quite hysterical. I was amazed because they only started the week of the event. It is great to see these students out of their student roles – some of them are really good actors and incredibly funny! A group of girls prepared a dance routine to some gospel music (Tanzanian gospel music is really upbeat and catchy). The boys felt left out and in only two days created an entire dance routine for themselves, complete with music changes and some impressive choreography. Another group prepared a song about SPC High School in traditional Wagogo music style, complete with Wagogo drumming and Wagogo dancing. (Wagogo is the tribe of Ihumwa, the village where SPC sits). Another group prepared poems about how much the love their school, which unfortunately was not performed the on that Saturday.

Anyways, Saturday came and Sean and I went with the bus to campus way too early in the morning for a Saturday (7am, yuck). I dressed in my just-made bright yellow with splashes of red kitenge dress (my friend Mama Nasrah took me to her tailor to get it made – she wore the same) and I put on makeup for the first time since arriving. The students were amazed to see me so well dressed (apparently my daily apparel is a little casual for their taste). The boys told me “Teacher, you look so smart today,” and one of a few of the girls came up to me staring into my eyes unsure of why they looked so different (it reminded me of the time my friends at the Fruit Market asked if I was tired one morning because I forgot to wear mascara). I definitely scored points with them that day – I became a tad bit more hip.

We ate breakfast with the students when we arrived – buns smeared with Blueband (a really bad fat spread – the only “butter” around) and jam. Most of us stuck our “sausage” between the bread to make a strange hot dog sandwich. After, we helped setting up the hundreds of chairs that filled our multipurpose hall and waited for our guests to arrive. The multipurpose hall looked lovely –maroon and white clothes were hung all around and green plants were placed on “stage.” There was a much decorated table along the front right wall where our guests of honor sat – they get a table so they can be served drinks throughout the entertainment and must sit with their faces visible to the other guests, another typical arrangement for an event like this.

Though invitations stated a 9:30am start, most guests arrived well after 10am and things finally commenced around 10:40. Most of our guests were family of our students, but also classes 5-7 from St. Ignatius Primary (the Jesuits’ first school here), and many of the construction workers from campus were in attendance. I was thrilled to see so many construction workers, actually, because to me they are as much a part of the start of this school as anyone else on campus.

The first part of the day was a blessing of sorts of each of the buildings on campus, even though all except two remain unfinished (the dormitories and the multipurpose hall). Things started at the classroom block where people gathered, the tape was cut (by our most honored guest, some sort of important man from the president’s office), blessings were made (complete with water), readings were read (one by a student), another blessing was given by our friend David and eventually our students led us singing to the next building. We moved to the dispensary (unfinished), the administration block (unfinished), the dormitories, and finished back in the multipurpose hall. This is where we sang our last song, the last blessing was made, and we all found our way to our seats. The teachers stood along the back, and I wanted to be near our students, so I stood next to them to take pictures (or supervise the students taking pictures from my camera – they love using it).

This is where the rest of our program was and just as I described it earlier – our MC announced important people and between speeches given by Fr. Marty, Fr. Sossy (our parish priest and director of schools) and the president’s VIP our students performed. One of the most interesting parts of the entertainment was when parents started flocking to stage in the middle of the act and threw money at the feet of the students. Apparently it is tradition to throw money at performers if they perform as a way to thank them or support what they are doing. Our girl dancers collected 68,000 TZ shillings – which is actually quite a lot of money (many of our parents are “comfortable”). The other three acts were also very well done. Before the closing of the event, there was a period of “gift giving” (usually given out but this time given to the school). Our parents and guests were asked to donate money to a fund to provide scholarships for students who couldn’t otherwise attend SPC. Guests wrote the number of what they intended to donate (or gave the money up front in cash) and the highest donors had their names and the amount read for everyone to know. The donors were called and they walked to the front to shake the hands of the VIPs and Frs. Marty and Sossy. It was quite strange in comparison to our American anonymous donation system, and I was shocked at how much money was donated. I guess one can say our school is “blessed” with many wealthy students. I just hope this money can bring those less fortunate to our school as well.


After all this, we ate and then had a little time to kill before the Jesuits had a dedication Mass and celebration for their new residence (still unfinished, however). My choir was part of the entertainment during the lunch and were singing at the Mass, so they somehow convinced me to join them after much debating on my part (“I’m scared!” – which is quite honest). It was a really nice experience though, because the Mass was rather small, mostly of Jesuit companions, employees, and friends. After we shared a great meal and some beverages and I had a ball mingling with my choir members. I don’t get to really talk to them considering we other see each other when we are singing. They are a fun group.

The weather was hot at times but the night became so chilly I needed pants and socks and a heavy jacket – I know, what a surprise! So overall, I was really pleased with the whole day. I guess now our school is official!

Another Bishop and Rock Paintings

You know, I never told you about my journey to Kondoa. About three weeks ago Fr. Lucas suggested going to the celebration Mass for the new and first bishop of the region Kondoa, a neighbor of Dodoma. To be honest, we (the volunteers and our Jesuit scholastic friend Martin) had no interest in the consecration/ordination/whatever-ation for the bishop, but the area of Kondoa itself had some appeal. Kondoa is home of a World Heritage Site showcasing rock paintings from about 6,000 years ago. Now that’s something to see! We all agreed to use the bishop’s celebration as an excuse to travel together and see the paintings.

We planned to meet at the parish uber early on Saturday morning, 7am right after Mass. Unfortunately (or fortunately, really) our vehicle got a flat before we even left so we were delayed a little (though if we got the puncture throughout out trip there would be a good chance we’d be in deep doo-doo). Jana and I were the only volunteers who went – Thomas was away and Sean was ill (again! This time malaria, poor guy). I knew Martin, Fr. Lucas, Br. Vincent were traveling with us, but I was excited to find that Sr. Christine, Mama Milambo (my friend from choir), her two sons, Mama’s friend, Agnes (the cook I made turkey with), and Rose (a cook for the Jesuits at the school) all climbed into the vehicle. Fr. Lucas, Martin and Br. Vincent all squeezed in the front and the rest of us sat on the two bench seats that lined the walls of the back of the car.

Now Kondoa is really not that far from Dodoma, but the only road to get there is dreadfully unpaved. Thankfully we were all in good spirits and excited about our journey that the first hour or two of the constant bumpiness (and occasional head bump on the roof) was almost humorous.

Oh I had an incredible time laughing with the women in the back of that car. First of all, I adore Rose – often when I don’t have anything to do at school I run to the Jesuit residence and hang out with her, help her cook or clean up or just chat over a soda. She’s a mother of two young teenagers, so she must be around 40 but I’m not exactly sure. (I should probably know this!) She knows about 5 total words in English and she’s been a real reason I keep trying so hard to learn Kiswahili. She’s the type of person that wakes up laughing till she cries, and just hearing her laugh makes your heart lighten. I always joke around with her and make her teach me things like how to tie a khanga properly around my head like an African woman. That was one of the topics of conversation that morning. The women love watching me tie things around my head or mimic them in ways that make me “more Tanzanian.” These things definitely help bridge the gap between language/culture/age.

This journey there was great – I think I’ve monumentally improved on my Kiswahili just from joking around with them the whole three and a half hour ride. And it was great to be able to communicate more with Agnes – the last time we spent time together was when we cooked the turkey and I was still pretty horrible at the language at that time. Mama Milambo was a great help and so were her boys – they all speak English fairly well. Though my legs felt like jelly and I had a significant bump on my head (and headache!) when the ride was over, I enjoyed the laughter. I also delighted in the quiet time when I just stared out the back door window taking in all of beautiful Tanzania. At times we passed huge plains, other times we passed through jungle, and still other times we climbed through the mountains. Tanzania truly is a magnificent country.

We finally arrived and went straight to the parish. There were decorations (yellow and white of course, the colors of Rome) everywhere and hundreds of religious people dressed in full garb. We greeted the people there and Agnes and Rose showed me around. Both of them are familiar with the place because they have family near Kondoa. They really wanted to take a picture together in front of the bishop’s house, so we called Martin over for the opportunity. We soon left and headed to the home of a St. Ignatius teacher (St. Ignatius is the Jesuit primary school in Dodoma – hence the connection). They graciously offered their home for us to stay. It was a simple house but with many rooms and enough beds for us to share. We had chai there and then set on our next adventure.

We all loaded up again in the hardtop and drove to a museum of sorts that showed pictures and artifacts people have found in the area surrounding the rock paintings. That was where we picked up our guide. The ride took about an hour and we traveled another bumpy, unpaved road, but this journey was interesting. The terrain was different, traveling over a number of bridges which unfortunately crossed rivers not recently dried up. In fact, many times we passed right through these dry sand banks which were sad reminders of how much water used to flow through this area. We had to get into four-wheel drive to make it up the rocky mountain to where the rock paintings were hidden. Talk about an adventure!

Now we needed to climb. It was actually a pretty intense hike up this mountain to reach the paintings and I was quite impressed by Br. Vincent’s endurance. Br. Vincent turned 75 this year and he has some problems with his legs, but he kept up with the rest of us (and at times shuffled right on past!). We reached a big rock first where you could climb onto and it felt like you were literally sitting on top of the world. It hung out past the rest of the mountain and below sat miles and miles of green mountains. It was beautiful. We acted touristy for about 10 minutes snapping pictures of ourselves and then continued our climb. We finally found the first site of rock paintings. I have to be honest, they weren’t quite as impressive as you’d think but you couldn’t not be in awe of how they have stayed on this rock for all these years. I thought about my own chalk drawings and I can’t imagine how they created a paint that could outlast the elements.

After visiting all three sites, we headed back home. We were famished at this point so we headed straight for a restaurant to get some chow. I took a little intermission outside and called home for about an hour (for a really nice conversations with my big brother, Greg!) but I enjoyed sitting and chatting with the bunch over a few beers and some nice food. We stayed there for the rest of the night, actually – chatting and laughing and enjoying each other. I amused them with a silly hand trick I probably learned from my Uncle Joe (always the jokester) where you hit a finger to the other hand and hit it back again, making it look like magic. They were all amazed – I thought it was hysterical! We headed back probably later than we should have, considering we had a long, long Mass to attend the next day.

The next morning we woke up, had our breakfast and packed our things. Our first stop was to see the only source of water in Kondoa – a well that has never run dry. The well is now surrounded by walls and a roof, but according to the well keeper, the roof has never been able to stay on. Every time people have sealed it in, the next day it will be blown off. The legend is that there must be some spiritual or mystical connection that needs the space directly above the well to stay open. Weird, eh?

After we went to the parish where hundreds of people have already taken their spots. The Mass was held in the foundation of the new church that is still being built. Hundreds of people crowded into this roofless, wall-less structure and the rest surrounded it. The Jesuits had a spot with the other religious, and the other women rushed and pushed into the “church” but Jana and I thought it best if we found out own spot on the grass somewhere around the mass of people. It was a beautiful day – hardly any sun with a cool breeze hinting on rain. Despite the clouds I still managed to get a little sunburn on my cheeks and a tiny triangle right beneath my neck. I managed the snap one photo of the bishop as he processed around the church blessing everyone at the end.

After a really, really, really long Mass, we found each other again (eventually) and went to the same restaurant as the night before to grab a quick lunch before heading home. It really was a quick lunch – I think everyone was really tired and not too excited about our journey home. The ride back was just as bumpy (maybe more because Lucas drove a little faster, we all just wanted to get there!) and much more quiet. We got home just as the sun was setting, in time for a quick dinner and an early bedtime. It was an exhausting but terrific weekend get-away.

Hakuna Mungu kama Wewe

One of my friends at school is our gate keeper, Naomi. She’s probably about 35 or early 40s but she I thought she was a little older. She wears a purple pant suit matching the other guards. She lives in the village of Ihumwa where our school sits. Ihumwa is a village far from Dodoma– about a 30 minute ride. The farther you get from the city center, the more likely you have less and less. Ihumwa has a market of its own, but the village has very limited access to electricity and most of its houses have walls made of cement and mud, roofs made of grass or a sheet of aluminum or other metal and floors of either soil or cement.

I don’t get the chance to spend much time with Naomi because the gate to our school is pretty far from our classrooms. But when I go in late to school on Mondays and I greet her as I pass through. I stop, say the little I know in Kigogo (the language of the tribe Wagogo who reside in Ihumwa) and we laugh together. She’s a sweet woman. She often walks me partway through campus, chatting with me despite my little understanding. I ask about her family; she asks about my home and I tell her what I did that weekend. I always make a point to wave to her out the window of our bus on our way home.

Naomi has been asking me to visit her and for a while I was hesitant. It is a little stressful visiting someone for the first time, especially when you have to take a daladala (small bus) to a place you’ve never been and try to find her (and not understanding the language so much!) But it had been about a month since I said I’d come that I finally decided I’d take the journey out there on Sunday. My Kiswahili is better so I can at least navigate more easily. Sean came along – we always take advantage of each other’s invitations so we can see new places and meet new people.

We went to the first Mass (I sang with the choir) and then took our first daladala into town. We walked to a place called SabaSaba where we can find the dala that takes us to Ihumwa (the same one we use to go to school when we go in late or come home early). The people in SabaSaba are getting used to us moving through there – I don’t think there were any wazungu passing to Ihumwa before we came. The people we ride the bus with now know, “the wazungu are traveling to the Site.” The Site is what people call the place our school is being built. I don’t think any of them expected us to stay on and drive right past the school to their home village.

We finally arrived, got off the dala and looked around not sure what to do. We thought Naomi would be waiting but she wasn’t so I called her and she said she was on her way over. We must have looked lost to the people in the market there. Naomi finally came around and was dressed like a Mama! That’s the first time I saw her without her purple pant uniform. She was thrilled to see us. Sean gave her the cake we bought from the bakery before we came (it’s comparable to Grandma’s pound cake but obviously not as good). (Later she told me how much her kids enjoyed it – I don’t think they ever bake cake or even taste it).

She walked us first to her church where I thought we might meet some of her friends. They welcomed us inside and sat us in the plastic lawn chairs sitting up near the pastor. This was a TAG parish – Tanzania Assembly of God. The church was small; it fit maybe 50 people. The walls were mud/cement, the roof was a metal sheet, and the floor was dirt. There was a single podium and an electric keyboard sitting on top of a speaker up front. The back of the church was draped in yellow, white, and purple cloths. There were flowers growing right out of the ground and branches of bushes with flowers hung along the wall. The pews were simple wood benches. The men sat on the right, the women on the left (even Christian churches in TZ are influenced by the Muslim practice of separating the sexes). It was beautifully simple.

I soon came to realize that the service was just starting, for we ended up staying there about two and a half hours. There were a few men that would come in front, sing some songs while dancing around and the pastor would pound away at the keyboard in time to its artificial electric beats. After some singing, the children marched in single file while singing a song. They finished in front, sang another song and then processed back out. After, the “choir” (anyone who wanted to go up front) congregated and sang their own song. It was a lot of singing, but I didn’t mind.

The pastor eventually opened his Holy Book and read at least ten different scripture passages in a very loud almost yelling voice, squeezing his eyes shut, moving his arms very prophetically, and sometimes jumping around to pound in his point. He sometimes switched only one line to English which was interesting because I’m most sure that Sean and I were the only English speakers there. He would sometimes interrupt his preaching starting a chorus of “Alleluyas.” When he finished, he stood quiet and then started praying loudly and soon everyone in the church was also praying, their own words, their own voices. It became a drowning of prayers in Kiswahili, something sounding almost like what I would imagine talking in tongues sounds like. It startled me, scared me a little, but then I looked at Naomi quietly saying her own prayers and holding a small girl (who I later realized was her youngest daughter) and realized I was in the midst of a living, breathing prayer. It was incredible.

Later there was another prayer session such as this, except women came to have the pastor pray over them. One woman presented her young baby, another her toddler, and the last was a Bibi (a very old grandma). The pastor placed his hand on each of their heads and yelled things into their ears, pressing their heads down and down. I was shocked, but the baby, the child, and the Bibi didn’t budge or blink an eye. This was something holy for them, so I tried to keep my true feelings off my face. It ended as if this was something that happened every week and they walked back to their benches.

I so much enjoyed being here, despite the length of the service (I was a bit confused why we were there and how long it would last, and I hadn’t eaten anything since 6:30am so I was on empty). But there was a moment when we were all singing “Hakuna Mungu kama Wewe” (No God like You) and I was staring at the metal sheet that shields these Christians from the hot sun that I felt more connected to the people here than I have since I’ve arrived. It’s an image and feeling that still sticks with me – no matter which Church I enter, I can find Home.

The Mass finally ended, but not without an introduction from the wageni (visitors). I said a few brief words about where I came from, why I’m here, where I work, etc etc, and then Sean did the same. They were so kind for greeting us when we all left the church.

Finally we started walking home with Naomi. She held my hand as we walked and talked excitedly about how happy she was to have me at her home. (Women hold the hands of their female friends and men hold the hands of their male friends, but you hardly ever see men and women holding hands even if they are married.) Sean chatted with Naomi’s first child, a girl of 16. Naomi has five children: this girl, two boys who are currently studying in Kenya (her father was Kenyan – but studying there is very expensive because the education is much better than in TZ, so Sean and I are unsure how this works for her), another daughter of about eight and her youngest who is a charming two year old girl.

As we walked, I hollered a few “mihanyenyi”s (Kigogo for good afternoon) to the neighbors in their shambas (farm/garden) and they surely stared as the wazungu walk where none (or very few) have passed before.