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.