Religion Class Music

So when I found out I was coming to Africa with the Peace Corps, I was excited about a great number of things.  One of the many was music.  I imagined lots of drums and pretty much the Lion King all the time.

Well, unfortunately, that's not what Tanzania has a lot of.  Yes, there are some drums, but most music that Tanzanians listen to is a weird mix of reggae, tambourines and some other stuff.  Overall I’m not much of a fan.

Then our internship school had their Thursday religion classes.  Students split up based on whether they are Christian or Muslim, and met in different classrooms.  The Christian classes sang a great deal, prayed occasionally, and always returned to song.  It was the first time I felt that I was listening to the music I expected to hear when in Africa.  I’m attempting to upload some videos so that you can get an idea, but it was wonderful to have our Kiswahili classes with the background noise of singing children.

This particular song was recognized by one of my fellow PCTs and she said that it's "Walking in the Light of God."  They sang most of it in Kiswahili but switched over to English occasionally.

Guess what Mum? I'm Ironing!

So Tanzanians are incredibly conscious of their appearance.  They like to look clean, dress nicely, and be neat.  Keep in mind that I said “appearances.”  People don’t really use deodorant, but many bathe at least once a day, if not more often.  (My family heats up water for me to bathe twice a day, whether I want to take a bath or not.)  Still, it’s Africa, and it gets hot and people sweat.  BO on bus rides is now just a fact of life.  You get over it.

            Still, appearances matter.  Someone explained it to me this way: dressing nicely is a way of respecting other people because you are giving them something nice to look at, rather than not caring about your appearance and therefore not caring about those around you.  I know a great number of people back in the States who would balk at this idea.  Regardless, I’m trying to be kind of conscious of wearing clothes that are not visibly dirty (I sometimes fail miserably at this), and am even ironing.

            That’s right, I’m ironing my clothes.  Much to my mum’s dismay back in Colorado, I hardly ever ironed.  Well, I’m going to tell you the secret to getting a bunch of lazy Americans to iron their clothes: do what the PC medical team did, and inform us that there are certain kinds of flies in Tanzania that like to lay their eggs in damp clothes (like the ones that you hang on the line to dry after hand-washing them).  These flies tend to hatch and burrow into whatever body is closest, lay more eggs, which later hatch out of your body.  So ironing is a health precaution and way of ensuring that you don’t have flies going into you like little aliens that later hatch out of your skin.

            So, Mum, I’m sorry to say, but if you had just told me that ironing would keep away burrowing flies, I would have been ironing for the past several years.  It’s a health precaution, after all, and one I’m going to adhere to!

Internship at Sumaye in Morogoro

Internship school (written 25. July 12)

The past several weeks have been spent in our CBT (community-based training) groups, which is where we have our intensive language classes.  There are five of us plus our teacher.  There’s Jack, Emily, Eric, Charles and me, and our wonderful instructor, Makasi.  Each CBT has class at a different secondary school around the city of Morogoro.  My group has been at Sumaye (sue – my - ay) Secondary School, which is a fairly short walk from where our homestay families are.  The past three weeks we have been doing our internship teaching.  This is where each of us PCTs (Peace Corps Trainees) taught at least 6 class periods each week.  It was a great way for Peace Corps to get us into the classroom in order to gain more of an idea of what Tanzanian schools are actually like.

            I will write a different blog entry about the Tanzanian school system, but mostly just want to rave about those fun experiences I’ve already had in the classes.

            So the only class that I worked with was Form 1, class D (1D).  The students’ ages ranged anywhere from 14 to 18, but Form 1 is at the bottom of the school totem pole.  Regardless of their ages, many of the students struggled with English (which is the subject I’m teaching, for those who may have forgotten).  There were those few that were able to bust out these incredibly well formulated and complicated sentences in English.  To give you an idea of the language ranges: some of my students could not even ask to go to the bathroom, whereas a student was able to explain the process of decomposition and why plastic bottles do not decompose.  IN ENGLISH.

            Despite their struggles with the subject, I flippin loved those kids.  First off, they call me “Teacher” “Mwalimu” (teacher in Kiswahili) or my favorite: ”Madam.”  That’s right, I’m called “Madam.”  It’s awesome.  I feel a bit like a pompous individual, I can’t lie.  But they call all their teachers by some kind of title, so it’s completely normal here.  Considering that I was called “dude” a few times by my sixth graders during student teaching, I kind of enjoy being called respectful titles.  Do you think my students in the States will call me “Madam Healy” if I ask them nicely?

            Tanzanian students are overall very respectful and like to help their teachers as much as possible.  I’ve already seen this a lot, as most students seem very insistent on carrying anything I bring to class.  This includes everything: my pen, water bottler, chalk, eraser, tape, random paper….I’m totally getting spoiled.  They actually enjoy running errands for teachers.  Apparently a lot of teachers get their students to carry water for them if they don’t have running water at their homes.  It makes me think about how many of my students grumbled if I had them pass out papers—I already feel bad for my American students when I return!  I’ll be that teacher who keeps making comments like “Well in Tanzania my students carried gallons of water for me….”

            Corporal punishment is still being used in many Tanzanian schools.  I have not seen it personally, yet, and I hope I won’t have to.  Technically it is illegal, but that law is definitely not being enforced.  Because of this, many students do not like to participate in class or ask questions, because some teachers will punish them.  Getting students to participate is like pulling teeth, and is hard when you’re with them for only a few class periods.  However, I definitely tried to make my class feel comfortable with me.  Though I’m sure they were constantly wondering why the white lady was hopping up and down whenever they participated or got the right answer.

            Despite most likely not understanding very much of what was going on, my students seemed to enjoy my silliness.  I would make them stand up and spell “coconut” with their bodies in order to get them moving, would do “Pasha”  (a super awesome amazing Tanzanian clapping thing that is loads of fun) to celebrate the students participating, and would give them high fives and fist pounds constantly.  They giggled a lot at me, but God knows I’ve gotten used to people laughing at me by now.

            One day at the end of class, as I was packing up my chalk and papers, a girl came up to me and asked my name (they don’t really know their teachers’ names here, though I can’t say anything because I didn’t learn their names either).  “My name is Amy.  What is yours?”  She then said very clearly “I’m Lois.  I love you!”  She then insisted on helping me carry my things back to where my CBT was having Kiswahili class.  I definitely bragged that I got my first “I love you” from a student. 

            Though it was challenging and eye-opening to do my internship teaching these past few weeks, it’s made me even more excited to actually have my own classroom (at long last!  It’s only been about 3 years of praktikums, internships, theoretical classes and student teaching) and develop relationships with students here.  Only a few more weeks until I officially move to my permanent work site!

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Today was our last day at Sumaye, and it was really quite touching.  We said an awkward good-bye to the teachers, who gave each of us some kind of traditional Tanzanian material.  They wrapped the cloth around each of us, differently according to our genders.  We were quite touched and definitely did not expect anything.  Peace Corps supplied each CBT with some textbooks, a soccer ball, volleyball, dodge ball, volleyball net, erasers and chalk.  These are all the basic things that the school simply does not have, so the teachers all seemed very excited at receiving the gifts.

            After saying our awkward good-byes to the teachers, we were brought out in front of the entire student body.  We were still wrapped in the cloth that the teachers had given us, and the students instantly started laughing when they saw us come out in them.  As I said before, we have all grown quite accustomed to being laughed at, plus it has never been derisive laughter that makes us feel bad.  Some of the prefects showed the gifts that Peace Corps provided, and thanked us for spending time at their school.  Charles from my CBT spoke for all of us, thanking the students for helping prepare us for teaching other Tanzanian students.  As we were about to leave, I shouted out in Kiswahili “Tunawapenda!” meaning “We love you!”  The students erupted into laughter, as they always do when they hear us stumble through Kiswahili.

            After our CBT finished for the day, Charles, Eric, Emily, Jack and I all wanted to say good-bye to our classes.  Jack happened to have his camera with him, so we walked into our class of 1D and asked if we could take a picture with them.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen Tanzanians move so quickly.  The girls swarmed over me, all trying to be the ones that stood closest to me, while Jack had the same thing happening with the boys.  There were definitely many hands that touched my hair in the chaos of picture taking, but I was laughing the entire time.  The students then carried my two bags all around campus as we said good-bye and took pictures with a lot of the other classes that our CBT worked with.  The girls who carried my stuff were like puppies, following me and eager to help me in any way they could.

As we left for the day, it was obvious the students really wanted to carry our stuff all the way home for us.  We said our good-byes and waved as we left the school.  All this was after only three weeks of teaching.  I can’t imagine what it’ll be like when at my actual site!

Fabric!!

My first khanga.  This one says something about not blaming God if bad things happen.

African fabrics are awesome.  Lots of color, cool designs, and the fabric is tough (so it can withstand the rough washing by hand).  There are a few different kinds.  Kitenge is the main kind of fabric that is used to make clothes for women.  This includes Sunday best, teaching outfits, and general every day wear.  Khanga is thinner, meant to be worn around the house, and is something that women usually just wrap around their bottom halves.  Khanga also have sayings written on the bottom in Kiswahili.  Many of them have something to do with peace or God, but you have to be careful to keep an eye out for the ones that may get you in trouble.  Which leads to the story of this particular blog post.

            Our first week or so in country was spent in the city of Dar es Salaam, but we were not allowed to leave the Smbazi center, where our first several trainings were held.  When we took a trip into the actual city, all us girls were on a mission to finally get khangas at long last.  We of course had no idea what the Kiswahili meant, but were completely and utterly entranced by all the colors and patterns.  Many of us just bought khangas without finding out what was written at the bottom.

            After making our first of many fabric purchases, we swarmed our Tanzanian guides in order to find out what the heck the fun-sounding words actually meant.  One of the homestay coordinators name Jumapili patiently translated for us.  When he got to the beautiful red and gold khanga that Steph had just purchased, he paused for a long time.  He glanced at her, back at the words, and then said haltingly: “This is a good khanga for when a member of your family passes away.  You should not wear this around your homestay family.  Let’s go get a different one.”

            Fortunately the vendor was willing to let Steph trade for a different one with a happier message (something about God, undoubtedly), but all of us are now much more conscience of what our khangas say!

My Homestay Family Here in Tanzania

My homestay family

While I’m in training, I am living with a homestay family.  Peace Corps places every PCT with a family so as to help with learning Kiswahili, Tanzanian culture, and to establish some ties with Tanzanians.  African families are a bit different than a lot of American ones.  Family may be distantly related (and I mean distant) but they are still family and are treated as such.  Family sizes differ, of course, but I’ll just be telling you about my own experiences.

            So in my family I have Mama Judith, who is the matriarch of the family.  She is a jovial, wonderful woman who works at the Teacher’s College of Morogoro.  She laughs a lot and is quite eager to teach and explain Kiswahili to me.  She doesn’t use very much English with me, and it’s helping a great deal.  I’m still a bumbling idiot who speaks very broken Kiswahili, but she laughs at me whether I get things right or wrong. 

            I also have Baba (father), who is a lecturer at a university in Dar es Salaam (3 hours away from where we live in Morogoro).  He stays in Dar during the week and returns on the weekends.  He laughs a great deal and watches soccer with me.  We both were cheering for Germany during the EuroCup and he seemed very entertained by my reactions to the games (keep in mind I was doing my best to not swear, but sports-induced swearing is quite common with me).  I don’t honestly see Baba very often, but he’s another one of the amazing people I’ve met here.

            That brings me to my dadas.  “Dada” means “sister” in Kiswahili, and is a title unto itself.  For example, everyone calls me Dada Amy.  That’s my first title!!  Wahoo!

            So Mama and Baba have only one daughter.  Her name is Gladness (we tend to call her “Glady” for short) and she is five.  She’s my buddy.  Dada Glady and I play lots of games.  I’ve taught her some clapping games and she’s taught me the only card game she knows.  She’s fascinated by my hair and will often touch it after I shower.  We get along swimmingly, though she definitely would rather hang out with me than allow me to do my homework for my language classes….

**In Kiswahili, parents are often known by the names of their eldest children.  In the case of my homestay parents, they are known as Mama Glady and Baba Glady.  It’s definitely different!  So if I were to be in the States, people would literally call my parents Mama Amy and Baba Amy, rather than Dori and Tom.  It seems like everyone has multiple names that I’m supposed to remember, so it’s been kind of hard thus far!**

Dada Fikiri is the elder sister of Mama Glady.  She is in her forties and is the best charades player I have ever seen.  She will take me by the hand to lead me to things so that I can understand what she is talking about.  We laugh a great deal, as she is an incredibly goofy person who will make fun of herself.  She gets very excited when I understand things or am able to form simple sentences, so it’s an incredible ego boost that is often needed! 

Dada Fikiri has a son, Joshua, who is thirteen and goes to boarding school during the week.  The school is about an hour away from where we live, so he comes home on the weekends.  He taught me soccer vocabulary.  It’s awesome.  I brought a soccer ball as a present for the family and he was particularly excited when I gave it to them.

So in Tanzania it is not unusual to have house girls or boys, who are basically servants but are treated like a part of the family.  It’s interesting.  It took me a few weeks to figure out exactly what all the relations were in my family, as everyone is called “dada.”  But we have two house girls.  Dada Dina and Dada Ava.  Both are in their late teens, but Dada Dina doesn’t go to school anymore.  They are sweet girls who are super patient with my minimal language skills.  Dada Ava stopped me from showering with chai by accident my first morning here.  They laugh at me a great deal, but in case you didn’t realize from my descriptions, Tanzanians laugh all the time. 

My family found me particularly hilarious when setting the timer and running across to get in the picture on time.

At the top: me, Mama, Baba
Bottom from left: Dada Glady, Dada Dina and then Dada Ava
Unfortunately Dada Fikiri and Kaka Joshua were both gone.

They put up with my silliness with the language, bless their hearts! 

So that is my homestay family.  They are pretty awesome, and I’m learning a ridiculous amount from them.  It’s weird to relearn things that I thought I knew how to do, but it’s a reminder that I’m in a developing country.  My family is pretty well off by Tanzanian standards, and we have electricity, but no running water.  So I’ve gotten incredibly good at bucket showers.  We cook outside on charcoal burners, sort through our rice to pick out the little pebbles that tend to sneak in and clean off any of the husks (I’m not sure if that’s the right word for them) that are still there.  My family will often ask me if we have or do certain things in Colorado, and it’s interesting trying to explain that we do have bananas but that they are shipped in.  My standard answer is that we have stuff but it comes from Brazil for the sole reason that “Brazil” is one of the countries that I can say correctly in Kiswahili.  It’s a bit different at my family’s house, because we have a banana tree in the backyard.  And yes, the bananas here are ridiculously delicious.

The boy at church who couldn’t stop smiling

The boy at church who couldn’t stop smiling

So I went to church with my host family my first Sunday with them.  Actually, it was just my host sisters and host brother, all the adults stayed at home.  The church that my family goes to is Catholic (I actually have an inkling of an idea of what is going on!) and is fairly close to where we live.  As we approached the church, people stared and I heard “Mzungu” a few times.  I kind of laughed at it, and commented to my host sister Ava.  She took my hand and said adamantly “You’re not a Mzungu, you’re now a Tanzanian.”  I love this family!

            During Mass, I was stoked when I was able to pick out a few words and actually understand them.  So I tuned out because I’m a bad Catholic.  But I wasn’t the only one not paying attention.  Kids were turning around to just stare at me (I don’t think that staring is considered rude here, so kids do it all the time).  There was a pair of siblings in front of me that would try to be sneaky in their glances and their shuffling on the bench to get closer.  Ava had to keep tugging on their shirts to get them to stop being a distraction.  I, however, was just smiling and internally laughing at them the whole time.

            My favorite part of the mass was when I saw a little boy across the aisle.  He was probably around four and was staring intently with a serious look plastered to his face.  I smiled at him, and he instantaneously broke out into the biggest and happiest smile I have ever seen.  I looked back up at the priest, and then glanced back at the boy.  He was just sitting, staring and smiling at me!  I started to laugh, looked away, got it together, and looked back.  The boy was still grinning from ear to ear!  I had to not look at him because he was making me laugh too much (like I said, bad Catholic).  No matter how long I didn’t look at him, I would glance back and see that adorable smile firmly planted on his face.  It was impossible to not be happy seeing him.

            So after Mass ended, we took the daladala (public transportation bus) back home.  We were waiting for the daladala to leave and suddenly Grinny Boy and his family were getting in.  He looked like he won the lotto.  I didn’t think his smile could get bigger, but it grew even more as he slid into the seat across from me.  I said hi to him and he just grinned, not even bothering to say anything.  When his family got out, I waved to him, and he jumped up and down waving back as the daladala pulled away.  Holy crap I love Tanzanians.

Mzungu (White person spotting!)

Random Stories that might make you smile

As we all know, stories are the things that make life and our individual experiences interesting.  Here are a few of mine from the last few weeks.

Mzungu

So, unsurprisingly, there are parts of Tanzania where it’s uncommon to see a person who is a different race.  Frankly, this has been everywhere I have been thus far.  Now, the term for foreigner in Kiswahili is “Mzungu.”  This is not meant to be insulting, but basically means that you are a foreigner and doing well enough financially to come all the way to Tanzania.  This means that many places that all PCTs go, there are whispers or shouts or comments of “mzungu.”  In the case of Morogoro (the town where all us education PCTs are doing training and staying with homestay families), the size of the town means that there are more foreigners here than in rural areas for example.  But we’re still an oddity, and many people stare at us or say “mzungu.”

            Which brings me to my smiling moment of the day.  One of the PCTs that I live close to is named Charles.  After a group of us visited his homestay family, we were walking back towards our own homes.  A little girl, probably five or six years old, saw us and started dancing about on the spot, singing “Mzungu!  Mzungu!  Mzungu!  Mzungu!”  She literally did nothing else but smile, dance and sing, her excitement and happiness making all of us laugh and smile.

            Charles laughed along with us and said that the girl does her Mzungu Dance every time she sees him—generally twice a day.  One time she wasn’t out when he was walking by, but her brother saw Charles.  He must have run to get her, because she came barreling out of the house, skipping and singing the only word Charles has ever heard her say: “Mzungu!” 

Though many foreigners get annoyed at being called by the word, it hasn’t bothered me—yet.  I know I stand out and I know that there is a chance I’m the first white person some people have seen in person before.  And let’s face it, I’m pretty much translucently white, so I stand out that much more.

I have to say though, that my homestay family seems more bothered by me being called “Mzungu” than I am.  They’ve told me how to say “I’m not a Mzungu, my name is Amy” and they’ve said it for me sometimes when we are out walking.  My Dada Ava will take my hand while walking and basically scold kids, emphasizing what my name is.  It makes me feel like they consider me a part of the family.  Score Team Amy.