My Experiences with Islam

So this post is not in reaction to anything, but is just something I feel I need to say.  I realize it’s not my most eloquent writing, but I kind of took a stream of consciousness approach while writing this.

            Back in the U.S., I lived in a wonderful and amazing state that I love.  Despite Colorado’s incredible beer, scenery, and people, it definitely lacks racial and religious diversity compared to other places.  There was a reason we called my hometown “Vanilla Valley.”  Granted, that is changing, but it’s still predominantly white and fairly Christian.  I was raised Catholic and am quite possibly one of the whitest people you’ll ever meet, as I literally glow in the dark, sunburn far too easily, and have no dancing skills to speak of.

            With that bit of background, I’m sure it won’t come as much of a surprise that there weren’t many Muslims in Fort Collins.  I know there were a few students who came through my elementary school who were Muslim, but there weren’t many.  Then my family moved to Berlin, Germany.

            Berlin has a large Turkish population, the majority of whom are Muslim.  Turks run many kebab places in the city, so when we became regulars at a small place by the S-Bahn, we got to know the employees decently well.  Especially during our first week in Berlin, we ate at the Döner kebab place probably 3 or 4 times (we were clueless as to where to go for food, as we were nervous being in a foreign country for the first time).  All the men who worked there were extremely friendly and often gave us free tea or fries or other extras.  They were some of the most welcoming people when we were scared and unsure in Germany.  Once we moved into our apartment, the man who ran a little newspaper stand by the bus stop came from Iraq and was also Muslim.  He quickly befriended my father, and told his story of being a journalist who fled Iraq because he’d printed things that the government didn’t approve of.  He was a really nice guy and it was sad to think that he couldn’t return home.

            Up to that point in my life, these were some of the biggest interactions I had with people of a different religion.  I was only 13 and was just starting to discover a lot of the world.  These people were kind and wonderful and I wasn’t really aware of their differing religious views.

            While we were in Berlin, 11 September happened.  We all know that there was quite the panic about Islam and Arabs in the U.S.  The unknown was scary for many people, and I feel that a lot of the American Muslim population was treated poorly post 9/11.  However, Muslims were some of the kindest and most supportive people we interacted with; from helping my family and me when we arrived in a new country so we could eat good food, extending the hands of friendship, or helping us with directions, the people’s religion didn’t affect the fact that they were simply wonderful people (the directions thing was funny.  We were in a small French village after dark in the pouring rain and couldn’t find our way to our hotel.  My mom went into a kebab shop run by Turks, tried her high school French plus lots of miming, and eventually one of the workers took pity on us and walked my mom through the pouring rain to the hotel).  It was sad for us to hear about how so many American Muslims and American Arabs suffered extreme prejudice as a result of fear of the unknown.

*I realize that the United States is not the only place where these kinds of issues are common.  However, as an American citizen, I am speaking of my personal experiences, which are limited to the U.S. and Europe*

When I returned the U.S., I was very happy to be back home, but missed the delicious Turkish kebabs that I’d come to love, and all of the wonderful people who’d become my friends while in Germany.  The next few years I had few interactions with religions other than Christianity and Judaism.  However, during my college study abroad, I took advantage of an opportunity to visit a former teacher in Tunisia.  Sandy had taught at my German-American school in Berlin, and had continued hopping around the globe to teach at various international schools (I’m hoping my life can end up kind of like hers).  When I returned to Germany, she was living in Carthage in the northern African country of Tunisia (as many people know, this would later be the spark of the Arab Spring, as the result of a fruit seller setting himself on fire in protest of the government’s oppression).  Visiting Tunisia was an amazing trip.  I loved it.  I got to immerse myself in history, which was of course a delight (um, hello?  Carthage ruins!!  And the largest coliseum outside of Rome, in which I walked where prisoners and beasts were held prior to their fights!  It was history dork heaven!).  While there, I also was able to learn a great deal about Tunisian culture.  Sandy had been living in Tunisia long enough to answer many of my questions about the country.

            The president of Tunisia had been in power for decades.  I actually saw his palace in Tunis, and some guards came across the street and told us to continue moving, that we couldn’t stay standing and looking at it.  I hung out with Sandy’s maid, who was a little woman who spoke no English, and only a little bit of French.  She and I stumbled through communicating with each other, but ended up spending an entire day together, during which we drank tea, went to the market and made couscous.  Though I had an amazing trip in general, getting to go around the market with her was fantastic and was one of the highlights of my trip.  I was the lone white girl, holding the shopping basket, staring happily at the piles of fruits, vegetables and spices while the Tunisian woman laughed with her vender friends.  I guess that was one of the first occasions in which I was the complete minority in every way: racially, religiously, height wise...seriously, I towered over all the women in the place.  But it was also fun.  During the trip, Sandy and some of her teacher friends and I went to a small village in the countryside.  While there, we discovered that it was a holiday, the celebration of Muhammad’s birth.  The call to prayer went off often, people were dressed in their best, and families were happily spending together.

            Jump forward a few years, to when I joined Peace Corps.  Tanzania has two main dominant religions, Christianity and Islam.  The interior of the country is predominantly Christian, whereas the coasts and the islands of Zanzibar are mostly Muslim.  Both Christian and Muslim holidays are recognized and celebrated throughout the country, regardless of people’s personal religion.  For example schools are closed for Christmas, Idd-el-Haji, Easter, Idd-el-Fitr, even if the area is predominantly one religion. During our initial pre-service training, we had an interview where we discussed our preferences for our site placements.  I said that I wanted to be in a Muslim community.  I selfishly wanted to learn more about Islam.  But I can’t even tell you how happy I am to be in my community.  I’ve learned a lot and enjoy getting to be in a different religious culture.

            First of all, I know this comes across very lovely and idealistic and silly, but it’s been reaffirmed many times for me that people are people.  It doesn’t matter what country they are from or what their beliefs are, people care about their families, their friends, and want the best for everyone.

            There are people who jump to conclusions when they find out I live in a mostly Muslim village.  I’ve had people ask if there are any extremists in my area, if I cover my head, or if I’m treated as less because I’m a woman.  Let me break these stereotypes down for you a wee bit:

-       extremists:  I believe the individual who asked me that question meant if there are people who are very radical in their beliefs to the point of committing acts of terrorism.  The fact of the matter is that I’m in one of the most peaceful countries in Africa.  Tanzanians of all faiths take pride in how peaceful their country is compared to places like Kenya, the DRC, and Uganda.  My parents were extremely relieved to find out I would be living in someplace like Tanzania, where they would still worry about me, but less than if it were a different country.  Also, though people have very strong faith in their religion, it obviously does not mean that they agree with groups like Al Qaida.  Islam is not terrorism.  I have never had a person in their country have an issue with me based on my country of origin.  I feel safe, and enjoy winning people over with a smile and greeting in their language.

-       Tanzania is not an extremely conservative country.  Ok, that’s not completely true.  It IS conservative in some ways, such as women generally wearing skirts, and not showing bare knees or shoulders.  However, there are many Muslim women who do not cover their hair, and there are Christian women who do cover their hair.  In my area, most of the women cover their hair in some way.  I am also in a village, however, which most certainly is more conservative than more urban areas.  Whether it’s wearing a headscarf or something like a bandana, mamas and older girls will not show their hair generally.  However, if a man sees a woman’s hair, it is not really a big deal.  For example, many female students will adjust their scarves in class, and so they take it off for a little while, in the presence of male students and even male teachers.  My friend Jasmine is a Muslim (who happens to work in a liquor store owned by her family, so I find it kinda funny), but always has her hair visible and done in beautiful braids.  Within the village, the Christian girls don’t cover their heads, but shave their heads the way that female and male students need to all over the country. Around the village, there have even been a few occasions in which women will be getting their hair braided outside where lots of people (including men) pass by and can see their hair completely.  No one in my village has ever asked me to cover my hair.  Sometimes they’ll jokingly take my scarf and drape it over my hair, but I’ve never felt like I need to do so in order to respect their religion.  But I think if I covered my hair, they’d be really happy and declare that I’m even more a member of the tribe.  Maybe for Idd, beloved village, but not every day.

-       The last point about being treated less because of my gender…it’s a complicated one.  The fact of the matter is that I am treated differently than a lot of people, and differently than I would be in the U.S.  I honestly don’t think it’s because of Islam, however.  I am a white woman living in a developing African country.  Tanzanian women and men have very different roles here, which many of them stick to.  It’s a male dominated society.  The vast majority of women that I’ve gotten to know do almost all the work around the home, as well as working at shops or on the family farm.  It’s extraordinary how much they work.  Most of the men in my village sit around.  Many of them work some, but it’s far more likely I’ll see them sprawled on the grass talking or drinking chai at the shop.  I’m a teacher so many people respect me.  I’m a foreigner who chose to live in their community, and they want to make me feel welcomed and at home.  That means I get lots of people inviting me to their homes and wanting to help me.  But I’ve had comments made, like “Let me do that, because I am the man.”  Or “Women don’t drive.”  Snide comments which aren’t true, and which are incredibly annoying for a feminist like me.  I’m happy to prove them wrong on many occasions, such as the fact that I do drive (though I’ve never driven on the left side of the road, nor shifted with my left hand, so that’d be a bit hard for me), I’ve felled and chainsawed just like the men getting firewood for the community, and I can in fact carry my own stuff.  These are things that I’ve discussed with both Christians and Muslims.  I’ll emphasize it again, I don’t believe that religion is the reason women are treated as less, but it’s the male-dominated culture within Tanzania.  Within Peace Corps, we have a lot of trainings about how to encourage and support gender equality within our communities.  I encourage my students of both sexes a great deal, but emphasize to the girls that they’re smart and can do whatever they want.  Apparently the female students cheered when they found out I would be coming to the school.  Finally a female teacher!  I’d like to think that a college-educated woman can give them an example of what they can do, but I’m not positive about that.  I just know they like me, but my lasting influence has yet to be seen.

I realize that there are many rants within this post.  Pretty much the point I’m trying to make is that fear of the unknown is human nature.  Education and getting to know people can help curb that fear.  However, believing the hype and that some crazy terrorists represent the religion of millions of individuals is simply ridiculous.  Religion is important, but letting stereotypes of a religion cloud your perception of an individual is among the worst things we can do as humans.

Water

So I know that I often will write or tell people about water when talking about my Peace Corps experiences.  I can safely say, I am so much more aware of water.  I think I’ve solved the problem of how people can be more conscious of their water use: make every person carry the water they use.  THAT will most certainly raise your awareness of exactly how much water you need to flush the toilet, or wet your toothbrush, or use to wash your face.

            I’m quite whiney when it comes to water.  In my village, we don’t have any spigots or wells.  We have natural springs, which are not deep enough to put your whole bucket in.  Rather, we get to use little cups to scoop the water out and into our buckets.  There’s apparently a proper way to do this, and I have yet to get it right.  I don’t really get many opportunities, though, as kids swarm me every time I go to the springs, and will fill my bucket for me.  They let me carry the bucket by myself, but if there are kiddos around, they will undoubtedly scoop the water for me.  When it comes to actually carrying water, I’m a wuss compared to the mamas and kids.  I carry the small buckets, which are 10 liters (according to my phone converter, that’s 2.64 gallons in the U.S.).  Many of my students and the mamas around the village can carry 20 liter buckets on their head with no problem and no hands.  I, however, don’t have the neck muscles/abilities that they’ve been accumulating their entire lives (little kids who are anywhere between 2 and 5 will balance little 1 or 2 liter jugs on their heads, honing in on those awesome head-balancing skills I have yet to master), so I stick with my 10 liter buckets.  But, as I wear glasses, it’s kind of a pain in the butt when I’m walking along the varied trails around my village.  With a bucket on my head, I can’t exactly lower my head to look down at my feet.  I look down, but my peripheral vision is blurred, because of the angle my head stays at.  So there have been a few times that I’ve stumbled because I haven’t been able to see properly, and everyone seems worried that they’ve broken Madam (I’ve NEVER seen a Tanzanian stumble while carrying stuff on their head).

            Once I get the water back to my house, it’s valued, treasured, and used as many times as I possibly can.  I have recently become kind of obsessed with my personal water conservation.  Considering that the springs close to my house have kind of dried up at this time of year, I have to go farther when I get water, to a spring that is down in a valley.  The last few times, it’s been over an hour trip total, mostly because the return trip is very uphill, carrying a full bucket.  One time though, I saw a family of monkeys when I came back!  That was exciting.

            Back to the matter at hand…I wash my face every morning and night, but otherwise…I’ve become pretty lax in how often I bathe.  I have a good supply of baby wipes on hand, but recently I bathe/wash my hair only once a week or so.  Bucket baths make me much more conscious of how much water I use, for sure, and lately I’ve been bathing while standing in a bigger basin, so I can catch the water.  That water then goes to be my toilet water.  When I’m REALLY desperate (as I have been this past week), the water I wash my face with will then be used to wash my clothes, then to wash my dishes, and finally added to the toilet water.  I have a feeling a few of you are quite disgusted at the moment, but when you have only a few buckets worth of water, you reuse it as you’d never expect you’d have to.

            I recently bought a pretty big water drum to store water in.  It can hold 120 liters.  I’ve only had it full once so far, but that amount of water was able to tide me over for 3 weeks.  Apparently the average American uses that amount in one day through the various things that use water (dish washer, washing machine, toilet, showering, etc).  I’m not telling you that you need to change your lifestyle, as it’s not in my place, nor would it work.  However, just think a wee bit when you brush your teeth.  Maybe turn off the water and think about how excited your favorite PCV would be to have that extra bit of water.

*I wrote this back in September but have been silly and not posted it.  Since I originally wrote it, we’ve been in the short rainy season, during which my village has had TOO much water.  I’m not complaining, but walking anywhere has become a very muddy affair, I’ve filled every bucket and both water drums and wished I had more to fill, and the school 2000-liter water tank is full.  Let’s hope the next few weeks/months will be a pretty good time as far as having water goes*

Ramadan in Tanzania

Ramadan

So the holy month of Ramadan just came to an end.  Muslims all around the world spent the month praying, fasting, and reflecting on their beliefs.  To be honest, I do not know the intricate details of everything that goes into Ramadan, so some of the things I write may not be 100% correct.  I may be sharing information I thought I understood that someone explained to me in Kiswahili, but it’s entirely possible that I didn’t fully understand (silly language barriers).  Please realize that as with every religion, traditions and interpretations vary a great deal, but the ones I’m going to write about are my personal observations.

As I currently live in a predominantly Muslim community, it’s been interesting to see how my beloved villagers have been celebrating and the various traditions they have. The most obvious and universal one is that people who are able to will fast (children less than adolescent age, pregnant women, elderly people and people who are sick are all not required to fast, though some choose to).  No swallowing anything (water, food, saliva, medicine) during daylight hours.  Many adolescents are excited when they are able to participate in the fasting, and my impression is that it’s a kind of right of passage into adulthood.  It’s a big deal to many of my neighbor kids, as they burst with pride saying they get to fast!

My neighbors explained that they are supposed to wake up at 3 or 4 in the morning in order to eat.  After sunrise, they can’t swallow anything.  People continue working as they would normally (go to school, work in the fields, open their shops) but there are still many things that change.  In fairly Muslim areas, little shops that usually sell tea, food and such will be closed.  The owners are probably Muslim, or they won’t get any business even if they are open, so they might as well be closed.  It is almost impossible to find food during the day in places like Zanzibar that are overwhelmingly Muslim.  Entire villages, towns, and even cities seem to be dead.  It’s kind of eerie, honestly.  Places that you’re used to bustling and being crazy are suddenly like ghost towns.  In my village especially, people are tired and not as active (understandably so!).

Then there’s the actual breaking of the fast.  From what I’ve heard from a few others, Tanzanians have pretty different food for breaking fast than a lot of that found in the Middle East.  However, here, the general label for this food is “futari.”  It’s usually something soft.  My favorite is the stew that’s made from boiled taro root and potatoes.  Plain pasta (sometimes flavored with sugar), sugar cane, porridge spiced with pepper, cucumber…these are all things I’ve eaten when with Tanzanians while breaking fast.  Though each family differs a little, I’ve noticed that the potato and taro root stew as well as porridge are pretty standard everywhere.  During this last week when I was in Korogwe for training with the newbies, there was a whole strip of tables set up in the road around dusk with mamas selling food for breaking the fast.  One mama came to like Jeff and me a lot, and we ate at her table pretty much every night.  She would give us a heaping plate full of Futari for 1000tsh (like 66 cents), then a cup of porridge (known as uji, and surprisingly spicy with the pepper) for 100tsh.  We would joke around with her, and she thoroughly seemed to enjoy having the two foreigners hanging out with her every night we were there. 

            During Ramadan I tried to participate in the fasting while in my village.  I didn’t do everything correctly, I think.  I wouldn’t wake up at 3 or 4 (I like my sleep!), but would eat and drink before 7.  After 7 I wouldn’t eat or drink anything until around 6:30 or 7.  While I was at school and distracted with working, it wasn’t too bad.  I would get home around 5:30 from school anyway, so I had enough time to make up food for myself.  It was when I was in my village on the weekends with free time that it was much harder!  Fasting with my villagers made me feel better when I would go around my village saying hi to people, as many exclaimed in surprise and joy at Madam trying to fast with them.  I was only a village faster, though.  When I was in town, I was bad and didn’t fast, as it was hard for me to eat before 7 without being able to cook for myself.  But my community still seemed thrilled at my attempts to participate with them.

            After nightfall, kids would go around the village, banging on drums (actually they were usually buckets – yet another use for them) and singing.  They go by people’s homes and ask for small presents (money or sweets.  I gave them bananas).  I had kids come by my house a few times, but I only gave them something once, because in my village, when I give someone anything, I usually have a flood of people come by who had heard I gave a person something.  I know it’s selfish, but I don’t have enough sweets, money or anything else to give to EVERY SINGLE village kid who comes by my house.

            The end of Ramadan depends on the sighting of the moon at the end of the lunar month.  The little sliver of moon is something people look for, excited for the celebration that is Eid-el-Fitri (spelled Idd or Iddi with Tanzanians).  People eat pilau (spiced rice cooked with meat, quite the treat when villagers usually can’t afford to eat rice), spend time with friends and family, go to mosque, and dress in their finest.  The clothes that women wear for Iddi are amazing!  So many colors, new materials, beautiful fabric for headscarves – they all come out dressed to the nines.  Many people in my community invited me to come for the holiday, but I unfortunately wasn’t able to be in my village.  I was helping Peace Corps do some training for the new trainees that arrived, and spent the whole week, including Iddi, doing work for Peace Corps.  When I went to tell my favorite neighbors that I would be gone for a week, Mama Zawadi began to cry and asked “You won’t be here for Iddi?  But who will you eat chicken with?!”  She was really upset I wasn’t going to be there for the holiday, and I hadn’t realized when I agreed to do the trainings that it was during the biggest Muslim holiday.  Hopefully nothing will keep me from my village for the next one, though, so I’ll look forward to that.

            On the actual day of Iddi, Peace Corps had a few trainings in the morning, then gave everyone the afternoon off.  Jeff and I had an easy day, during which we just kinda hung out.  At one point we were going to get some yogurt (quite the treat for us!) and passed by some mamas, who asked where we were going to eat pilau.  We told her that we didn’t know if we could buy it somewhere.  One mama told us to wait, then came rushing over with plates full of pilau for us.  We were touched that they were sharing their personal celebration meal with us, and ended up buying everyone a soda.  It was super sweet and kind that even though they didn’t know us, they still were so welcoming.

            Now that Iddi is over, things are returning to normal.  People have more energy, shops are open, and it’s ok to eat and drink in public again.  I have a new appreciation for the amount of faith and dedication that Muslims have for fasting for an entire month.  It’s not hard doing a few days, but it gets fairly difficult toward the end.  I’m glad I got to take part, even though I don’t personally identify with a religion.  For me it was more of a community experience instead of a religious one, but I’m happy that it helped me integrate even more with my welcoming village.

Random Musings from the Vill

Internet is being super slow so I'm just posting all of these together to save time one uploading the blog entries.  This is a compilation of things that are fairly random.

- When you beckon for someone to come over, you have the palm of your hand facing toward the ground rather than your palm facing upward.  With your palm downward you also make a motion like you’re grabbing the air.  It took me a little while to get used to it but now use it all the time.  It is almost like there is a power of the motion that will get someone to come over to you.  If this motion is accompanied by the phrase "njoo" (n-joe), it is incredibly rare to not have a Tanzania answer the call.  Part of the culture, I suppose, but if I don’t go over (like if some guys want to talk to me and I have no patience at that moment) people look genuinely surprised that "njoo-ing" me over didn’t work.

- Tanzania food is bland.  Like really bland.  There just isn’t much flavor to it.  In areas where there is a large Indian or Iranian immigrant group, there might be more flavors and uses of spices, but for the most part, in very Tanzanian areas like my village, the food is bland.  The main staples in my village are rice, beans, mkande (I probably spelled it wrong but it is when corn kernels and beans are cooked together), greens (spinach or sweet potato leaves are most common here) and ugali (oh man I will explain about ugali).  Besides salt, spices aren’t common in food.  For special occasions people will cook pilau (rice cooked with meat and pilau spices, which include cinnamon, cloves, pepper and cardamom) but that is mostly for holidays and weddings.  Chai is another matter, since people will swarm me if I give out spices for chai (the usual cinnamon, cloves, and cardamom) that I can buy for cheap in town.  My wonderful mother has sent me lots of spices so my food is definitely not bland, and I thoroughly enjoy cooking my own version of curry here, as there are some really good curry blends that I can get.  Anyone who has eaten my food (including guacamole, which they have all the ingredients for but just don’t make cuz its not part of the culture) has been astonished at the fact that there is more than just salt in there.

- "Pili pili" means chili and holy crap the chilis here can burn your throat off.  My first encounter was a few days after we arrived in Dar and went for a walk around the city.  At lunch there were a plate of cut up chilis for us.  Thinking I was all awesome cuz I was willing to try new things, my friend Willy and I ate a slice of the chili each.  That was the day I gained much more respect for chilis and I almost cried. Since then I still eat them because I like spicy food (and it is flavor for goodness sake) but I have learned to eat it with food rather than straight or to dab it on (as even this is enough to spice up those beans and rice).

- Concrete here sucks.  It falls apart too easily for my taste and I am quite ignorant of building materials.  But even I know it isn’t a good sign if part of your house wall falls off every time you sweep even remotely close to it.

- Football (soccer) is king.  One of the other sports my students play is netball (like a combination of ultimate frisbee and basketball but with no backboard) but I have only seen girls play.  There is a bit of sprinting and other track and field events but for the most part playing is limited to football.  My students had never heard of rugby and didn’t know it was a sport.  That was when I figured out I needed to pay a wee bit more attention to what my students are actually familiar with rather than assume they've heard of some of these things I take for granted.

- I might be alone in this but before arriving in Tanzania I had never cooked beans that weren’t from a can.  I didn’t know how to cook dry beans but just always saw them used for crafts in the US. Now I have finally figured out to soak the dry beans (overnight preferably) then cook them for literally hours.  Depending on the kind of beans it can take up to 3 hours.  That’s a lot of fuel when you have to carry firewood or get bags of charcoal.  I bought a pressure cooker for myself as a Christmas present (best PCV Christmas present to oneself ever) and have a small gas stove that I use.  If I presoak the beans it can be only about 30 minutes from the start of my cook time to when my beans and rice are finished. Don’t roll your eyes and sigh that it still takes too long, that's a fast meal for here!!

- Hospitality is different here.  People are still amazingly welcoming and love to have you to their house.  Whereas my family raised me to sit and talk with the guests or have things prepared ahead of time (or my favorite, where the guests and I hang out and work together in the kitchen—I have very fond memories of hanging out with our Siemer relatives around the kitchen at Thanksgiving), Tanzanians have a different approach.  As a guest you should relax and sit down in the nice cushioned chairs in the sitting room (if the family can afford it).  Then the hosts tend to leave you alone while they go prepare tea or food in the kitchen.  You don’t really talk to them much either, as they will bring you the tea or food then leave again or sit by you but not eat or drink themselves.  It's very odd for me.  I mean, if I just cooked or made tea for you, I damn well want to enjoy it too, not look on as you enjoy it without me!  Maybe I am the only one who feels this way, but it still catches me off guard sometimes.  When we first arrived with our homestay families, many of us complained that they were treating us like guests.  It was only later when I went back to visit my homestay family that I realized I had been wrong and they had in fact been treating us like members of the family.  They had let me sit with them while they cooked, do small tasks around the house, and would hang out with me.  When I went back to visit and they talked with me about my village, I was the only one who got treated to a soda, the house girl was out working and barely talked to me though she looked happy to see me again, and eventually people left me to sit quietly until I felt awkward and decided to leave.  Though it is merely a cultural difference, it is still taking me a while to get used to it.  When 3 teachers and I were invited to lunch at the school cook's house, we waited for 2 hours while his wife and him prepared stuff for us, hardly talked to them, and ate while he watched us and his wife was off doing other work.  It was odd but the hospitality is so heartfelt, you just learn to accept it.  Lately people have been letting me hang out with them while they prepare tea more but I anticipate that when my parents come, the three of us will be sitting in a room while the hosts are bustling about.

- "Hodi" (pronounced hoe-dee) is the phrase used instead of knocking.  When people come to someone's house, many won't knock (some do) but will stand outside the door yelling “Hodi."  One man who is the village bum has come by my house at 6:45 in the morning (NOT the best time of day to say hi to me on a day we don’t have school) and just stood outside my door yelling "Hodi! Hodi! Hodi!" repeatedly without taking a breath in between syllables.  To be honest, I sometimes get wildly annoyed with people hodi-ing because they hardly get you a chance to get to the door without sounding like you're being really slow and inconveniencing them.  It’s also kinda like the njoo where you have to answer the call, but there are times I don’t want to.  Then I suck it up and think "Cultural integration" and answer the door.

- I know its been mentioned in a few different movies like Pulp Fiction but think about how awkward many of us Americans feel during silences.  Maybe there’s a lull in the conversation.  No one is talking but may be staring off into space or playing with his or her cell phones. It starts to feel uncomfortable.  No one has spoken in what feels like hours...you start to try to formulate some sentences but you’re flustered and feel awkward and unsure of things so it feels like the awkwardness is just building and getting worse.  Finally you spew out some words and your companions smile or comment lazily before the silence descends again.  You wonder if you should go...and then you remember you're in Tanzania and it doesn’t seem to bother people in the slightest if people don’t talk.  People don’t seem to get awkward.  Maybe Americans are just too aware of things or don’t like a situation to be uncomfortable in the slightest, but people just don’t seem to feel that situations are awkward.

- I don’t think it’s considered rude to wake people up here.  If it’s early morning people still hodi.  If you’re taking a nap (which is very culturally acceptable and many people do, though I don’t take advantage of it enough, methinks) and they wake you up, they just chat with you as if you weren’t sleeping and don’t apologize for waking you. In the grand scheme of things I know it isn’t important but it can be quite irritating when I’m sleepy.

- I’m sure plenty of people will judge me for this one, but I am incredibly sick of people asking me for stuff.  At first I would do what I would in the U.S., where I offer to let someone borrow something then they return it when they're finished.  Here, I am like a boyscout—I’m always prepared. I think ahead and plan accordingly.  Like, if I’m going to be lesson planning, I bring a pen and paper.  If I’m walking to the village an hour away and will be there for the day, I bring water.  Unfortunately that’s been something that seems to have caused me more problems than you think it should.  People always ask to use my things, even if I am in the process of using it.  I’ve had a few teachers take a pen out of my hand, something that infuriates me (I’m a big believer in asking.).  I know this shouldn’t be a big deal, but it gets really old.  No, you can’t use my knife again, buy your own knife since you know you're going to need it.  I have wanted to say this but haven’t....I know it’s just cultural that people lend each other stuff, but because I am the white American, my village sees me as having absolutely everything.  So they all ask me.  It isn’t just the occasional mama.  It’s sometimes every single person I come across.  And most of the time, if I do lend them something, they don’t bring it back unless I pester them.  Endlessly.

- People don’t know their birthdays a lot of the time.  Most of my students only know their birth year, and sometimes they don’t even know that.

- There are things that are gendered in the US that aren’t here, where as there are small things that are gendered here you wouldn’t thing would be.  It’s interesting the things that are considered gender specific or neutral.  For example both women and men wear the color pink with no comments being made toward the men.  I love walking around and seeing big burly men wearing a bright pink dress shirt made of glossy material.  I think it's healthier and better than the paranoid approach some people have back home where men can't wear pink without getting some kind of comment.  I know it is just a difference in culture but I like the bright pinkness.  

           But then there are some bizarre things that are gender specific.  In English, if you don’t hear someone or need clarification, many of us say "What?" or “Huh?” or if you’re proper, “Pardon?”  ("Hey Amy, Mumble mumble mumble."  "What?")  In Kiswahili, though, women say "Beh?" and men say "Nom?"  My homestay family made this very clear when I accidentally said “Nom” and they spent 10 minutes explaining why I had to say “Beh.”

           Fabrics are also kind of gendered which I don’t really understand.  For example the other day at the end of a meeting with teachers, village elders and students, one of the teachers told one of the older boys to stand.  Wrapped around his shoulders was a khanga.  As it was cold (even I had a khanga wrapped around my legs all day), I thought it was better the kid be wrapped up than shivering and whining.  But the teacher stopped the elders and asked them if the student was a boy or girl.  A few responded that he was a girl because of the khanga.  I was really mad at the teacher for being such a jerk, and feel that if it's cold, who cares what someone uses to keep warm.  What made me even madder was that the most respected elder in the village was there with a different kind of fabric around his shoulders in the exact same way.  Man, I was angry after that.  After the teacher started berating the student, I was trying to get him to stop (“Daniel, it’s cold, stop,” etc.) but I don’t think I was loud enough.  But in this incredibly sexist society, God forbid someone use the wrong kind of fabric.  I'm being immature and holding a grudge against that teacher because I disagree with what he did.  I’ve seen some of my male students who have used fabric and wrapped it around their heads like the girls (the stereotypical headscarf that many people think of with Muslim women) and I just smile at them.  It doesn’t bother me, but I’m crazy and believe that men and women are equal.  Sorry, the double standards and little things like sexism with fabrics start to really get to me after a while.

- I am now the teacher who has been at my school the longest.  The others have left for various reasons and I feel so incredibly bad for the students whose education is being deeply affected by things outside of their control.  I’d like to think that at least I’m there and have been consistently, but the students are the ones who suffer as a result of things completely outside of their control.

- When I did the Wyoming Conservation Corps, I was a wee bit snooty.  I admit it.  After we would run out of real milk (those gallon jugs can only last so long when you're using ice and a cooler in the summer in Wyoming), I would either wait until we got more or simply not have milk the rest of the project.  I just couldn't stand powdered milk.  I wouldn’t use it at all.  Then there was the coffee issue.  My co-leader my second summer suggested using instant coffee like Starbucks Via so we could save time in the morning by not having to make coffee with the percolator or wash it.  I didn’t like that idea either, as instant coffee just seemed…bleh (I had worked at a small coffee shop, albeit not super fancy and just in the library at my university).

Wow I was a snob.

Now I am super excited if someone gives me Starbucks Via or other really good coffee packets.  They're just as valuable among PCVs as water-flavor packets.  Milk is difficult to get in my village (it's unreliable because there are only so many cows and loads of people who rely on their milk) so I’ve taken to using powdered milk (the best kind being Nido).  I don’t drink it straight but will mix it with coffee or cocoa or tea.  I use it all the time and rely on it for calcium and a source of protein. Considering I'm kind of accidentally vegetarian, I drink a lot of that fancy milk powder stuff.  But these were all things I scoffed at during my fairly "roughing it" summers.  I guess Peace Corps has made me a wee bit less snobbish and come down to earth.  I think I needed it, though I refuse to do the same for beer.  I'll forever be a beer snob because of Germany and microbreweries.

So the moral of that story is that if you wanna help out your favorite PCV…send some Starbucks Via packets.  Or any other simple snacks.

RPCVs

After finishing your Peace Corps service, you become an RPCV (Returned Peace Corps Volunteer).  At the moment I am a simple PCV (an adorable little Peace Corps Volunteer who you all love despite my obvious lack of modesty) but that does not mean that I don't run into RPCVs or even PCVs from other countries.  Regardless of where people served or how their experiences differed or when they actually served, there is a wonderful sense of community.  It is quite extraordinary and something I have come across several times.
      For example back in December I was in Moshi for the holidays.  Moshi is close to Mount Kilimanjaro and is a base for many safari companies.  As a result, an extraordinary number of tourists are in the area. One day while in town, some friends and I went out to dinner at a little Indian place.  When one of the girls went to pay, the waitress told her that it was paid for.  This led to general confusion until the waitress pointed over at a bearded man sitting at another table.  He was with a woman and another man. The bearded man waved at us and said "I was a PCV."  We went over to talk to them and thank them for paying for our dinner (it was not an expensive place but there were eight of us total so it was a surprise and quite kind, especially since PCVs aren't exactly rolling in dough). It turns out the bearded man and woman had served in Chad before it was too dangerous too keep PCVs there.  They went to South Africa with Peace Corps then got married.  They are now in the DRC teaching at an international school and were in Tanzania as tourists.  They were super nice and reassured us that there actually are jobs and opportunities for RPCVs (a common fear for many of us when we think about reentering "the real world").  We left them but all were quite happy.  The biggest thing I remembered was them brushing off our thanks by saying "Just pay it forward when you become an RPCV."
       Before I left the U.S. I spent a lot of time with an RPCV from Cambodia.  Rebecca was hilarious and shared loads of advice for living in a third world country,such as: just because there are big snakes that doesn't mean you're going to die. (Dont you worry, Mum, it is WAY to cold in my village for snakes.  Plus Cambodia has a few more dangerous snakes than Tanzania I think and Rebecca was terrified of snakes anyway)  Besides advice, Rebecca also gave me a lightweight sleeping bag just before I left, something that has been incredibly useful, like when a house has 25 volunteers and sleep space and blankets are few.
       Back when I did my first summer of the Wyoming Conservation Corps, one of the other crew members had served in Malawi a few years before.  Mike was super patient and answered all my questions about Peace Corps and about his experiences.  Back then I knew I wanted to go to Africa (what can I say, I am soo good at setting my mind to something and making it happen) so it was freakin awesome to have an RPCV working with me all summer that I could drill.  I was annoying but Mike humored me and was someone I told right away when I got my placement.  In the spirit of "holy crap it really is a small world," one of the directors of PC Tanzania actually worked with PC Malawi when Mike was there and remembered him.
      One of the most influential RPCVs in my life is Sandy.  She served in South America but I didn't meet her until my family and I lived in Germany and Sandy taught my 9th grade P.E. class.  She did Peace Corps then Crisis Corps (where people who finish their service can extend their servuce and help in another area.  Now it is called Peace Corps Response) and has since then been hopping around the world, teaching at different international scchools.  When I returned to Germany for my college study abroad, Sandy was teaching in Tunisia in Northern Africa.  I decided I probaby would never know someone in Tunisia again, so I contacted Sandy and went to visit her in the capital Tunis.  Not only did I get to see another amazing country, but I got to hear even more stories about Peace Corps.  Sandy was super supportive and and encouraging, saying she would write me a recommendation should I need it.  She was one of the people who I made sure to tell as soon as I got my invitation to join.  I dont know if Sandy realizes how much of an influence she has had on me, but I have kinda based my life travel goals (and work goals of teaching at various international schools) around her.
       Another great RPCV is someone I met when I first got to my beautiful site.  Erza only had a few more months left of his service when I arrived, but he gave us newbies advice, introduced us to people around Lushoto, gave us stuff like books and pans when he left, and most importantly showed us the best chipsi mayai in Tanzania.  Right now he is traveling around the world on crazy adventures but he sent us Lushoto folk a care package with wonderful things like drink mixes and frosting. (PCVs are easy to please)  We miss him and happily remember him but are happy he finished his service and can now legally ride motorcycles, unlike the rest of us.
       One of the most recent examples of an RPCV passing on the kindness we all appreciate is Dan.  My lovely mum works at an assisted living/retirement home where my awesome grandpa is currently living.  Mum started a fundraiser for my school, which has contributed so much to kids who dance with excitement at getting a piece of candy and pencil.  One weekend when I went to my post office, I had a letter and package from Dan and Sheryl.  It turns out that Sheryl's family is living at the home and during a visit Dan saw a box labled "Peace Corps donations" that Mum had set up.  He then sent me a box full of supplies and a letter with a great picture of the snowy Colorado mountains.  He explained that he served in the 1960s (I left the card at home so maybe it was the 1970s, I cant remember) in the West Indies.  I was truly blown away.  Here is a man who has never met me but was giving enough to contribute to my school, just because we both are/have been involved with the same program.  I was so happy and surprised, it was the best trip to the post office yet.
       Overall I just have to say that Peace Corps has created a community that is wildly supportive of volunteers currently serving.  It is something I am proud to be a part of.  There are many more people involved with Peace Corps I am sure I didn't mention but they are still wonderful even if I am spacey and forgot.  But one conclusion I've made is that I really have to pay it forward a lot once I'm an RPCV lest kharma slap me upside the head!

More Thank You Videos from Mariam Mshangama Secondary School

One half of my form 4 class.

One half of my form 1 class.

Those New Fangled Fancy Cell Phone Things

In the U.S. and Europe, cell phone are so common, it’s actually surprising to find someone who doesn’t have one.  They’re everywhere, and are both useful and very annoying.

            The same applies here.  Even in the middle of nowhere Tanzania, there will be a student or a very old mama (I mean like 60 or 70 who has never had electricity in her life) who will have a cell phone.  Though there are the fancy ones with internet and stuff that you see often in cities, in my village most people have the older (but practically impossible indestructible) cell phones that were popular during the early 2000s.  It’s funny because in the U.S. my parents would ask me questions about how to do something on the phone.  Well, I saw the same thing happen a few days ago, where an old mama had to get her son to save a phone number for her because she didn’t know how and he plays with her phone all the time.

            Now, I’ve complained many a time about my village not having electricity.  So how does one charge a cell phone when you don’t leave the village for weeks and weeks but still feel that need to call people to say hi?  Well, there’s a little shop that has a solar panel not far from my house.  For about 300 shillings (about 20 cents in the U.S.) you can get them to charge your phone, and they help supply the whole village with charged phones.  Those phones are used a lot.  One cool thing that I’ve noticed is that every phone here has a flashlight (super awesome when walking through the village after dark) and a radio.  Why don’t all phones in the U.S. do that?

            In the U.S., phone calls are generally short and get to the point.  “Hey, where are we meeting up later?  Ok, see you soon.”  Most of my phone calls were maybe a minute long, if not shorter…I would rather exchange pleasantries with someone in person, especially if I’m going to see them soon.  Here, it’s very common for someone to call you just to say hi.  But when I say “say hi,” it means a few minutes of social awkwardness from my end.  They just say many different greetings, then hang up without saying good-bye.  This is the thing that gets me most.  It’s great that people want to say hi, but it drives me crazy when they’re suddenly gone and didn’t tell me in any way except to hang up.

            Phone culture is definitely very different here.  For example, many people have their phones on during meetings, and will answer in the middle of the meeting without thinking it’s rude.  Everyone just waits until they’re finished.  Ring tones are loud, and if you remember “Boom Boom Boom” by the Vega Boys, it’s one of the most popular ring tones I’ve heard in country.  People speak VERY loudly on the phone, almost as if they think they have to shout in order to get their voice to go through the phone.  People will answer everywhere and have very loud conversations that I find a wee bit annoying when I’m trying to sleep on a bus.  People will also play their radios blaringly loud, but being forced to hear everyone else’s conversations and music is just common here.

            The thing about cell phones that I find interesting is the fact that many people never used a phone before cell phones.  In the U.S., landlines are not used very much anymore, but there are many parts of Tanzania that landlines never reached.  The telephone poles just never made it out to the middle of nowhere (unsurprisingly).  It’s as if the country skipped some technologies and instead adopted the technology that works best for them.  It’s like how records never made it here, but portable radios and music files are commonplace.  It’s incredible how much technology really does make a difference, even in places you wouldn’t think it would reach.

Racist Babies

Babies are adorable.  No matter where you go, they’re just the cutest little things on earth.  Tanzania of course also has an incredible number of the adorable little balls of awesomeness.  Here, most mothers carry babies on their backs with a khanga tied in the front.  I’ve seen one baby backpack since arriving here, and openly stared at the mother and child when I did see it.  On buses, on the street, around the village or town, you can count on seeing a mother or a sibling with a little cutie-pie baby on their back.  There are lots and lots of babies around.  This is partially because of the fact that the birthrate is so high and because people have kids when they’re so young.  Many people are astonished to find out that I’m a whole 25 years-old and don’t have any kids. 

It’s also very common to see young children (I mean even 5 or 6) carrying their young siblings or neighbors.  It’s been my observation (I think it’s throughout Tanzania though of course I can only speak from my experience) that everyone in this country is used to being around children.  Men, women, young, old…kids aren’t scary to them.  Back in the U.S., one of my best friends, Emily, is terrified of children.  My sister Kaitlyn feels like she’ll break babies if she holds them.  My father used to feel that way as well, until he had some kids of his own.  Now he’s well known for loving babies and getting to hang out with kids.  Though many Americans are good with kids and love to be around them, there are also so many people who are scared of kids or are not used to being around them.  But here in Tanzania, I’ve seen some of my macho male students pick up little babies and smother them with kisses.  Older men on buses will smile and pick up a kid and play with them for the rest of the journey.  Everyone in the whole country seems not only accustomed to kids, but able to play with them and not be afraid of breaking them.  If a child falls or starts crying, it’s not the end of the world.  Mothers don’t panic that their son or daughter has been hurt a little bit, as it will only make them stronger.  I guess that helps contribute to making the kids the toughest I’ve ever been around.  Parents also aren’t afraid of a stranger holding their child.  On buses, if there’s no room for the parent to sit, strangers will often have a baby or small kid passed back and put on his or her lap for the trip.  I’m sure that there are some sick and perverted people in Tanzania who abuse children, but it’s not a crippling fear for parents the way it is for some people back in the U.S.  The first time a young kid (like 3) was passed back to sit on my lap, I was pretty stoked – cultural integration!

So overall I really want to be able to hold babies here and be a part of that aspect of the culture.  But no.  Babies look at me and start crying.  I can’t even count the number of babies and very, very young kids I’ve made cry.  They catch sight of me, their face starts to crumple into a wail, and then they scream.  I know it’s because I’m the first face they’ve seen that isn’t black, but it’s kinda disheartening when you can’t hold a single baby in the village because the kid will scream in fear.  Racist babies.  They’re such day ruiners.

A Big Thank You to Good Sam's and My Mum and Da

Two weekends ago, I went to the post office to have an incredible surprise waiting.  Two packages chock full of donations and supplies for my school.  Now allow me to explain a wee bit.  My wonderful mum and fantastic da have been spreading the word about the needs of my school to people they work with and their many incredible friends.  The amount of rallying has been astounding.  The boxes that I got were full of supplies.  When I emptied out the boxes onto the bed at my hotel, it took up quite a bit of space.  Colored pencils, books, National Geographics (which I enjoyed in particular because they’re not only good for the students, but I get to enjoy awesome reading material too!), candy, pencils, a mount-on-the-wall-or-table big pencil sharpener, erasers, flashcards, chalk, playing cards, stickers, postcards, puzzles, crayons, and then stuff for me (yay for quick meals, canned chicken and wondrous cliff bars!).  

The boxes full of goodies from my parents, the great people at Good Sam's, and my dad's school.

I was blown away and super excited to show my students and the staff the wonderful things that people were kind enough to send.  When I showed my school, I tried to get a student to videotape it, but he kept pressing the button on my camera so they’re only 5-second splits.  But there were enough pencils to give every single student one.  The excitement was tangible as I tossed pencils across the classrooms at my students (I guess I didn’t need to throw them, but frankly, it made passing out 120+ pencils a hell of a lot more fun for me).  The new pencil sharpener is something that none of my students have used before, so it’s been kind of entertaining to show them how to use it.  Their excited faces at seeing a sharp pencil (that they didn’t have to spend several minutes sharpening with a razor blade) has been quite the awesome distraction in the staff room for me.

            The supplies are now all in the school’s possession, and I’ve seen students around the village and at school clutching the books.  The other day, when my awesome kids finished a reading assignment early, I brought out some of the National Geographics (which are all from 2007 or 2008, but that doesn’t matter in the slightest, they’re still interesting).  I was laughing pretty hard when one group kept calling me over, asking me what things are.  Literally every three minutes, they would raise a hand and say loudly “Madam!  Njoo.”  Pictures of Israel (trying to explain in only a few, simple sentences about Israelis and Palestinians is kind of hard), China right before the Olympics, modern-day Celtic culture, coal country on the U.S. East Coast, Untouchable women helping supply their communities with health service in rural India…life from all around the world.  The students pretty much just looked at the pictures and the maps, but it was fun to see their faces excited at seeing something different.  In all reality, seeing the world outside of Tanzania is something that most of them won’t do in person, but if they can be exposed to a little bit more, I think they’ll be better in the long run. 

            Overall, my students and the staff at my school are incredibly grateful for all of the gifts.  When I busted out the colored pencils, it was a wee bit difficult to get all of them back at the end of the period.  Thank you so much to everyone who contributed and has helped my school.  I’m incredibly touched and my school is quite excited at the kindness you’ve all shown us.  Thank you again.

I videotaped my students saying thank you, but the internet is being incredibly slow and irritating, so I was only able to upload 2 of the 6 we made.  Here are two of them, and I will continue to try to get the other videos to load in the future.  Until then, enjoy seeing my students say thank you.

My form 2 class.  One of the kids said "And God bless you" close to me, which made me laugh a little in the video, but you can't hear him saying it.

My form 3 class.