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.

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.