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.