Just a few changes....

You remember how in high school yearbooks, everyone wrote stuff like “You’re great!  Never change!”  “Stay the same!”?  Yeah, we all know that the intentions are good, but frankly, change can be incredibly good.  And change is something I think is impossible to avoid when you do something like Peace Corps.

            Let’s face it: travel is one of the most educating experiences people can have.  Exposing yourself to other cultures, languages, history, ideas, people…how can you not learn from that?  And how can you not change when you learn?

There are many ways that I think I’ve changed.  Some of them aren’t a surprise (like being tactful with refusing marriage proposals).  But there are other things that I never expected.  Allow me to list some of the ways that I’ve changed since joining Peace Corps.

• I’ve become a much angrier person.  I know that oftentimes, it’s based on the situations I find myself in.  It’s difficult for me to not get pissed off when I’m tired, missed my bus, tripped, had a man creepily give me the wiggly finger (a non-verbal sign men want to have sex with you), and the shop doesn’t have the phone voucher I need to buy.  Are those things a big deal?  No, not really.  But there are so many low-tolerance days here in which little situations become difficult and I’m just angry.  Back in the U.S., there was a guy I worked with one summer who would get ridiculously annoyed with me because I was seemingly always happy.  He went out of his way to try and be a day ruin-er.  If only he could see me now…I’m not proud of it, but one day I was so pissed of…I actually flipped off a 5-year-old.  That was one of my lowest moments in country.  I’m sure you’re all flabbergasted that I would do something so horrible, but I think most PCVs have those moments where they flip out at some point during their service.  My moment just happened to be at a 5-year-old girl.  Fortunately, I don’t think she understood what it meant, as she just looked at me, puzzled.
• I’m now much better at silly small talk.  A large part of Tanzanian culture is extensive greetings.  Like…really extensive.  It’s really important, and can help you create and maintain good relationships with people.  As a result, I can greet you (in Kiswahili, Kisambaa and only 1 greeting in Kipare) about how you woke up, your family, home, how it is “over there,” if you’re whole or not, your general state of being…there are some people that I think I’ve only greeted and talked about very superficial topics with.  But man, oh man, can I talk about those things.  When in doubt, I’m great at saying something that makes people giggle, and being the adorable foreigner who’s making awkward mistakes.
• When I first got to Tanzania, I was kinda paranoid and would panic when men would be aggressive or would push about how they should date or marry me.  Now that I’ve been here for almost two years, I can graciously beat around that topic by saying: 1) that I already have a fiancé who’s back in the U.S. and I’ll marry when I get back; 2) joke that my 2 year old neighbor is my fiancé, which makes them laugh and usually drop the subject; 3) that my father wants 200 cows brought FROM Tanzania TO the U.S.A. for my dowry (I’ve had guys say that this is too much, and then I feel slightly insulted…whatever, dowries are stupid but I know damn well none of them can pay something like that, so I try to make it a joke); 4) explain that no Tanzanian man would want to marry me because, even though I cook and clean for myself at home, when I get married, my husband will do all that for me.  That last one sometimes confuses them and once even sparked a debate.  It was me versus all the teachers (all men) in the staff room.  The gist of the debate was that I was insisting that I will not do that for anyone only because of the fact that I am a woman.  One teacher said it’s an expression of love, and I argued that if my husband loves me, he should cook and clean for me.  None of them responded.  Why?  Because there damn well is NO REASON.  These are the same men who are teaching in civics about women’s rights and gender equality.  They’re teaching it, but definitely not practicing it.  Ugh, gender roles within such a split society can be very wearing on women who have been raised to believe they’re equal.
• I was raised in a household where you acknowledge people and listen to what they have to say.  It’s just polite to not ignore people.  Except now I’m rude by those Iowan standards I was raised with.  I have no problem flat out ignoring people.  When walking through a town or city here in Tanzania, I’m really good at ignoring the vendors who shove their wares in my face, the guides trying to get me to go on a trip, and the men in the bus stand trying to get me to go somewhere (for some reason, it’s almost always Nairobi, Arusha or Dar, but I never want to go to those places…I guess white people just usually go, but it’s still annoying).  I’ll nod along like I understand or am ok with something, but am in reality not comprehending a single thing.  It’ll be hard to get out of those habits when I get back…
• “Rushing to wait.”  This phrase pretty much encompasses what travel and…well…almost everything here is like that.  I’m now so much better at waiting than I ever was before.  I can go on a 4-hour bus ride and not even listen to music or read and be fine.  Scary, huh?
• I don’t look people in the eye as much as I used to.  I don’t like this change.  Part of it is because if I meet people’s eyes, they’ll often interpret that eye contact as a signal that I’d like to talk or buy their wares.  Most of the time, that is not the case.  I realize that there are probably some people who feel I’m being meek and adopting the timid woman role.  That’s not it, but it will take some conscious effort to get out of that habit.  I’ve grown so accustomed to avoiding people’s eyes because almost every single time I look them (man or woman) in the eye, the person jumps to follow me/shout after me/or just overly enthusiastically greet me.  There’s not really anything wrong with this, except that there are some days when I just don’t want to deal with it.  Other days, I happily banter back and forth with the person, but low tolerance days happen often in Peace Corps.
• I definitely gossip more now.  I don’t want to excuse my behavior, but part of the reason is the fact that many of my villagers are gossipy as well.  It’s a combination of small town-ness and general Tanzanian curiosity.  When I first arrived in my village, I would hear information that was circling around the village about myself.  Like when another teacher said, “Madam Amy, I heard you went to the market in the next village yesterday.”  People ask lots of questions, like where I’m going, how my family is, what I’m cooking…they’re very curious.  One time towards the beginning of my time in my village, I was saying hi to a neighbor.  The previous week, another volunteer had come to visit me (a male volunteer, who I lied and said was my fiancé so people wouldn’t be annoying about getting me hitched).  My neighbor and I did the classic back-and-forth greetings before she commented that people in the village were saying I had many men over to my house.  I knew that lots of folks thought that my headmaster and I were sleeping together (DEFINITELY not true, but he’s unmarried, and I’m not married, our houses are right next to each other, and apparently sex is the only explanation for why we would talk.  Tanzanians assume sex whenever men and women are together and it’s not in public).  So having a male visitor + living next to a single man = me sleeping around.  Another occasion, when my headmaster was gone for a meeting, a different village friend asked me who I was sleeping with when he was gone.  I had to emphasize that I always sleep alone.  She was surprised, as I think most people believe I'm incapable of being alone.  It’s annoying, but by now I’m fine with talking/countering those very false ideas.
• I’ve started to actually listen to pop music.  I definitely gave in to the 1990s with N*SYNC and the Backstreet Boys, but in the past 5 years or so, I’ve been pretty dedicated to folk music, different kinds of alternative, acoustic, bluegrass, a wee bit of country (yeah, Dad, those years and years of playing country in order to annoy me…I now play country when I’m homesick to remind me of those car rides).  In general I didn’t listen to pop music.  Then I came to Tanzania.  Bongo Flava is one of the most popular forms of music here, and it’s all pretty much the same.  Granted, I do like some Bongo Flava songs, but besides that, there’s gospel music (which is beautiful, but I can only take so much before I’d rather listen to something else) and some American and British pop.  Rhianna, Shania Twain, and Celine Dion are particularly popular.  GOOD GOD IS CELINE DION POPULAR.  Very burly men will suddenly have their cell phones go off, with “My Heart Will Go On” as the ringtone.  It’s kinda entertaining.  Until you’re on a bus for 8 hours where the only music playing is a combination of 15 songs by Rhianna, Celine Dion, Eminem and Enrique Iglesias.  So the point of that little rant is that those particular artists are very, very common. In the mean time I’ve expanded my pop music collection from other PCVs to include songs that have been around from years but I haven’t had.  I even happily got the Top 40 a week ago and am super happy to have a better idea of some of the popular music right now.  My current favorite playlist includes the following songs, in addition to many others:

o   Waka Waka (the World Cup 2010 song) by Shakira

o   Down in the Valley by The Head and the Heart

o   Timber by Pitbull

o   Don’t Wake Me Up by Chris Brown

o   Hall of Fame by The Script

o   Barton Hollow by The Civil Wars

o   Stubborn Love by The Lumineers

o   Pompeii by Bastille

o   Yeah 3X by Chris Brown

o   Starships by Nicki Minaj

Yeah….all over the place as far as music goes….

COS Bound

Currently, I am sitting in a hotel, waiting until tomorrow morning, when all the remaining members of my class (those who have not been medically separated or ET-ed, which means “early termination”) will travel to a resort north of Dar es Salaam, where we will have out COS conference (Completion/Close of Service, it’s different for almost everyone you ask).

You know what this means?

I’ve reached the first step of finishing my Peace Corps service.

This week is dedicated to figuring out how to use PC on our resumes and for future jobs/grad schools that we apply for.  How to do the mountain of paperwork that naturally comes with any government job.  How to adjust to life back in the U.S. once we return.  How to spend the last approximate 3 months in our villages, where we’ll wrap up projects and enjoy our time with the people who have loved us and accepted us.  This week is also the last time I’ll see most of these wonderful people, my fellow PCTZ 2012 volunteers.  Probably forever, if I’m being realistic.  I hope I’m not right, but with this crazy world where connections are much easier to maintain than before…I daresay I’ll run into some of these crazy, globetrotting, hilarious and daring people.

I’ll also be having a few drinks by the pool.  Why?  Cuz I made it to COS.  That’s the only reason I need to sip a well-deserved drink.

My Village Car

-       My village only has one car that actually comes to the village.  There are a few more that go to the neighboring village, but it’s a 45-minute walk, so it can be a pain if you’re carrying stuff back from town (which I almost always do…scratch that, I always have stuff that I bring back from town).  I say car, but it is a Hias, and can technically sit 20, including the driver.

Oh my, how many more we fit in there.

As with any form of Tanzanian transport, as many people, chickens and bags of cement as possible are stuffed into the car, with little disregard for leg space, how large individuals are (there are some VERY big women who manage to be squeezed into a spot big enough for a skinny teenager), or for any fear of cramped spaces.  I often have something under my feet, on my lap, and can’t even move to the side because it’s so tight.

When I first arrived, a man named Iddi drove my car from my area all the way to Lushoto.  He was super sweet, drove slow and safe (EXTREMELY appreciated when we’re on twisty mountain roads), and he has a smile that makes you want to jump for joy because it’s so rare.  Mr. Iddi owns the car (called “Kweboma,” after the village where Mr. Iddi lives and the car starts and ends) and pretty much has a monopoly on travel in my area.  He’s the only one who comes to my village and the village above me.  As such, he made a ton of money.  Enough to buy a big costa (bus for longer travels).  So now there is the costa, which Iddi drives, and there is still the little Hias.  The costa goes all the way from Kweboma to Tanga Town (about an 8 hour trip total) and then returns the next day.

Since Iddi is driving the costa, the Hias is now driven by a man named Arifa.  Arifa is quick to smile, jolly, and likes to show me off.  He’s pretty fond of me, I think, but not in a creepy way.  For example, there was one time that we were getting back after dark.  From where the bus usually drops me off for my village, it’s another 20 minutes to walk to my actual house.  Arifa spoke with people in the car and ensured that a trustworthy man would walk me almost the entire way to my house to make sure I got back ok.  Another occasion, we were leaving Lushoto extremely late, and Arifa told me not to worry, he would drive me all the way to my house to make sure I didn’t have to walk back in the dark.  Super sweet!  He also loves to show other people that I know some Kisambaa (my tribal langauge), and on one occasion told a saleswoman I knew some, then cried out “Amy!  Speak Kisambaa for her!” It’s kinda funny, and I know that I’m a definite source of entertainment for them, but it also makes me feel like I’m part of the community.  Though to be honest, it’s really easy to get Tanzanians to like you.

Now, those are the drivers, Iddi and Arifa.  But then there are the kondas, who can’t be forgotten. Konda (cone-da) is a term short for “conductor,” or the person who takes money and helps people on and off the vehicle with their luggage.  When I first got here, it was Abeid (pronounced “a-bed-ee”).  He was kind of a sullen guy, but quickly warmed up to me, and would call me “Dada” (sister) and smile when I would happily jog over to him in the bus stand.  At first, he would always insist that I sit in the front seat of the vehicle.  This is definitely one of the ideal places to sit, but I felt uncomfortable that I would always get it.  I thought it was because of my skin color and white privilege.  So one day I just sat in the back.  Abeid came and told me that the front seat was mine, but I smiled and told him that I was fine where I was.  He looked like he didn’t believe me, but let me stay there anyway.  Ever since, I’ve sat anywhere in the car that I want to.  In some ways it makes me feel like more of a part of the community.  I sit where they do, I don’t get special treatment because I’m the American.  I’ve had many babies thrust into my arms and mamas fall asleep on me while sitting in the back.  But it makes me happy.  Sure, it can be uncomfortable often.  But those things are all a big part of the African experience.  You haven’t really traveled in Africa until you’d had things like babies and chickens put in your lap and a mama drool on your shoulder.

Once Iddi got the costa, Abeid went to work in that vehicle.  Since then, Omari has replaced him in the Hias.  I must admit that I have a huge crush on Omari.  Like, a really big crush.  He’s gorgeous and seems to enjoy speaking Kisambaa with me, though I know little beyond greetings.  When he’s the konda, I try not to be obvious about it, but I tend to stare at him.  He’s just that good looking.  It’s a great distraction from the sketchy roads, and he smiles a lot, so it’s impossible to not look at him.  There was one occasion when I was in Lushoto, walking past a field where vehicles are worked on in between trips.  It’s like an open air, very grassy garage.  Anyway, I was walking by with some other PCVs when I saw my car (the distinct orange and yellow stripes on the side make it easy to spot).  I recognized Omari as he came around the side, and I shouted “Omari!” while waving and looking in that direction.  At that very moment, I tripped in a hole.  I didn’t wait to see if Omari saw me trip, but all the PCVs with me were laughing their heads off at me.  It’s well known among my Lushoto PCVs friends that I have a crush on my konda, so my demonstration of clumsiness was just a classic embarrassing moment.

Even though I complain that I only have one vehicle that actually comes by my village, in some ways it’s nice.  I have these relationships with the drivers and kondas that not all PCVs get to have.  Or villagers for that matter (I kinda stick out, and am usually surprised when there’s another foreigner in the vehicle with me).  I get a little bit of special treatment (they come to my house!) but not so much that it’s excessive.  My drivers and kondas are good guys who watch out for me, and I’m thankful to be in a good situation like that.

Though it most certainly would be nice to have a car go more than once a day.  Oh well.  I’m used to it now.  PCVs have to rough it a wee bit, don’t we? ;)

Random Thoughts

Some new musings about Tanzania

-     -  Celebrating holidays in the village is a lot of fun.  For Idd-el-Haji (the end of the pilgrimage to Mecca, though from what I understand, people around the world celebrate it, even if they didn’t actually do the pilgrimage), my game plan consisted of one simple idea: just walk around the village.  And it worked brilliantly!  I got invited to many homes all around, and went to an area that I don’t go very often.  Many of my students live out there, so I was able to visit their families.  It was adorable seeing some of the mamas, who were so welcoming and brought me chai, pilau (spiced rice cooked with meat), meat pieces (a big treat), Tanzanian chapati (like fried tortillas), mandazi (fried doughballs), an avocado…I am not kidding when I say that I don’t think I’ve eaten that much in my entire life.  One of my students walked me around to a bunch of people’s houses.  He then dropped me off at his friend’s, who then continued escorting me around.  It was useful having a Tanzanian take me around, as they’re much better at turning down food when full than I am when I’m alone.  To sum up the day, I left my house at about 9:30 in the morning, and returned at about 6pm.  As Tanzanians are incredibly welcoming all of the time, but especially around the holidays, it gets hard to refuse food and drink.  But I felt better than I usually do about dropping in on people unannounced, as they had all prepared food already, rather than having to start the fire in order to make tea.  Plus it’s a day that people expect visitors to come by, so I was being completely culturally appropriate.  The villagers seemed excited to have me come, and I was happy to see so many wonderful people.  However, I was wildly full afterward.  I literally didn’t eat for a full 24-hours afterward.

-      -  There tends to be some very unrealistic ideas of time here.  Granted, many cultures have very different views of punctuality and time compared to Americans and many Western Europeans.  Tanzania definitely falls into this category.  Often times, my bus to my village will say that they’ll leave at noon, but we won’t leave until 2:30 or 3pm.  Sometimes later.  Waiting is just a very large part of traveling here.  But besides being late, I find that Tanzanians just don’t know how much time it will actually take to do something, or don’t pay attention to it.  For example, teachers at my school will tell students to go fetch water.  This is pretty common in most schools.  But our school and village area have a definite water problem.  The majority of the year, the students have to walk approximately 20 minutes.  One way.  Then sometimes they have to wait for enough water to fill a bucket.  Then they have to walk back.  Uphill with full buckets of water.  It’s not an easy trip.  Sometimes they have to walk even farther.  And the teachers often tell the students to go and come back in 15 minutes.  Seriously, 15 minutes?  Are they crazy?  Not always, but sometimes the teachers will give students a hard time if they come back late, one’s even beat them for being late.  Gah!  It’s impossible for them to make the trip that quickly! 

Another example of an unrealistic expectation of time was when my school district decided that every school in the district needed to build a laboratory.  My headmaster went to a meeting in October, where they informed everyone of this new district requirement.  The construction was to be finished by the end of November.  Even in a place like the United States, it would be difficult to meet that kind of deadline.  Then you include details like people having to carry the rocks for the foundation on their heads to the worksite, getting enough water to make the cement and mortar, etc, and getting the manpower to do all of this.  It’s mid January and we’ve barely gotten the foundation done.  It’ll be interesting how long it will actually take to finish.  Considering that our final classroom was supposed to be finished last February and still isn’t done…I don’t have high hopes.

-      -  Tanzanians love tea.  I love it too, but tea is a huge part of Tanzanian culture.  They super duper love it.  One village elder told me that he can’t go two hours without a cup of tea.  It has a lot of benefits.  The water is boiled, so it’s safe to drink.  They add a million spoonfuls of sugar so they get calories in their system (and bad teeth in the process).  In my region of Tanga, they add spices like cardamom, cinnamon, cloves, pepper, and it’s VERY good.  I’ve been to other regions and had their chai, but I’m very biased toward tea from Tanga.  Especially in my village.  100tsh (about 6 cents) for a cup.  Best prices ever!  When I go other places, I usually balk at the price, but village life is extremely cheap.  When people drink tea, they usually have something like mandazi (fried dough, kinda like a sopapilla without all the extra air inside) or chapati to eat with it.  Around my village, when people have a guest come by, they almost always make chai and serve mandazi.

I actually got to help make mandazi a few times at two different shops.  At one shop operated by a mama and five primary-school aged girls, I got to help roll out the mandazi, and giggled with the little girls the entire time we were rolling them out.  At the other, it was a much bigger operation run by a guy named Baraka.  Baraka’s mandazi are the best I’ve had, honestly, and he makes a couple hundred every day. I mostly observed when I was at his shop, but helped as I could.  I happened to go there after a particularly bad day at school (rampant beatings…because I wasn’t actually teaching that day, I stormed out).  When I got to the shop, I got tea and one mandazi and sat with some of my former form 4 students (they’d already finished school but were still around the village).  It started to rain.  Even though the shop isn’t far from my house, I hung around.  Then Baraka and my former student Ramadhani started to light the fire and get stuff ready to make mandazi.  I asked if I could watch them, and they just smiled and said it wasn’t a problem.  I ended up staying for 4 hours, got 5 free mandazi, and 4 cups of tea.  It was a great end to a crappy day, and I was incredibly thankful for my villagers.