A New Baby

One of the other math teachers had a baby a couple of weeks ago.  There seem to be a lot of families of our acquaintance having babies, perhaps because many of the Tanzanian teachers here are in their 20s or 30s.  We have learned of some cultural differences associated with these blessed events.

One of these is that babies are indeed "blessings".  New parents aren't to be congratulated, as on an achievement, because babies are a gift from God.  This is true even if the family is very poor or if the parents are unwed.  Babies are a blessing.

Another difference is that a woman's pregnancy is not a proper topic for conversation.  I was told by a woman who spent 12 years as a missionary in this community that miscarriages can and do happen up to 7 months of pregnancy, so chitchat about when the baby is due, and so on, is not welcome until the very end of the term.  The same goes for naming the child.  Infant mortality is high, and though parents love and care for their newborns, they don't take the step of naming them until they are a month old, or more.

The middle-class women we know--other teachers and wives of teachers--have their babies in the local hospital, which reportedly offers good maternal and newborn care.  Women in communities far from healthcare facilities use a midwife, if they are lucky enough to have one, or other women to help them with delivering the baby.  Unfortunately, these rural mothers are usually the ones most at risk for complications due to youth (marriage at 14 is not uncommon) and malnutrition.

But our colleague Ester's little girl was born healthy and beautiful.  Two weeks after the birth those of us in the math/physics department went to visit them at their home.  Angela, a chemistry teacher and Ester's close friend, accompanied us and showed us the way to the house.  Ester and her husband and (now) two children live in a 3-room semi-detached home made of concrete with a tin roof, like ours.  There is a separate small building used as a wash house and I saw an outhouse in the back yard.  There were goats and ducks on the property.  Inside, the living room is furnished in a nice middle-class fashion.  We took off our shoes at the door, and then stepped in onto a rug.  There are two overstuffed loveseats, a comfy chair, and a coffee table.  A small TV sits on a cabinet in the corner, with a picture of Jesus hanging above it.  And there is an imposing hutch, which holds the china on which we were served tea.  

Mark and I went, as did four other math and physics teachers, all male.  We were greeted by Ester's mother (whom we called Mama Ester, in the tradition of the culture) and served tea, bread, boiled eggs, and soda by a young woman who was not introduced but who is probably another relative.  Ester joined us, and she looks well.  She was convinced to bring the child out for us to see.  Not that I could see that much of her, besides a very cute little face.  Babies are bundled up, in Tanzania.  This one was wearing standard baby clothes, including a hat and, presumably booties, and was tightly wrapped in receiving blanket and a big fluffy blanket.  It didn't feel that cold to me, but Tanzanians feel the chill more than Mark and I do.

What surprised me most about the visit was the fact that the male teachers all wanted to hold the baby and cuddle her.  One of them, a single man in his mid-twenties, rocked and talked with her for a long time.  I think he must come from a large family, and have experience with babies.  Certainly, that behavior is not what I have seen from American men of the same age and marital state.

Our visit lasted well over an hour.  Before leaving, we gave gifts to the mother.  Mark and I had bought baby clothes and booties in Arusha the weekend before, and brought them along.  The other teachers pooled their funds and bought flour and sugar at a local shop on our way to the home.  Sugar, especially, is considered a very nice gift here, I've learned.  A Maasai man may bring sugar to the parents of a woman he is courting, to get into their good favor.  Ester didn't open the gifts while we were there, as is also typical.  I did show the baby outfit and booties to Angela beforehand, and she was impressed, so I think they were fine gifts too.

It's good to know that, because Angela is a dear friend of ours, and her baby is due in another two weeks.                 

Challenges

The last 2 weeks have been challenging.  The electricity was off for over 48 hours, and just when it came back on, our running water went off for 8 days.

It made me a little crabby, even though I know that some of our Peace Corps colleagues--and many of the people of this county--face the same living conditions every day.  It's all in the expectations.

How did we cope?  We have flashlights, a solar lantern and candles.  We have many buckets of water stored in our pantry.  When that supply ran low, we enlisted some of the students to refill them at the tap on the other side of campus.  We rationed water for bathing, cooking, dish washing, and toilet flushing.  Cleaning the house and doing laundry was put off.

During this time, students got their own water from the afore-mentioned tap or went off campus to buy it.  I even saw some washing their clothes in the creek that separates the dorms from the classrooms.  Our school has 800+ students, and half of them are boarders.  That's a lot of demand for water.

(Did I mention that this is the end of the rainy season?  Much water in the creek, none coming out of our tap.  Distribution and infrastructure problems are rampant.)

(Mark says I'm complaining.  Honestly, I am not nearly as bothered by all of this as I would have been a year ago.)

So, besides coping and trying not to grumble, what else are we doing?  This area is perennially  drought-ridden.  In fact, in 2008, 500 cows died  because of drought in this district.  Our headmistress is concerned about the continuing problem, and she approached us with the idea of rainwater harvesting at the school.  We formed a committee, and have applied for a grant to fund the building of a system that will direct rainwater from the roofs of 4 classrooms to a 10,000 liter storage tank.  We've been working on the grant application for weeks and have finally sent it off to the agency that we hope will supply the money.  The water will be sent to the school kitchen first, and then the home economics classrooms.  (It takes a lot of water to cook breakfast, lunch, and dinner for all those students).  The water currently being used, and any extra from the harvesting system, will be freed up for use by students and by teachers living on campus.  We pray that the grant will be funded and the system built before the rains start again.       

Buckets

And now, a guest blog, from Mark:

Plastic buckets have become an important part of our lives. 

We wash clothes in buckets.  One bucket is for the washing and two more are for the double rinsing.  In the dry season we hang the clothes out to dry, where they are immediately covered with dust, and then dry quickly.  In the rainy season we hang clothes out to dry, the daily rains come, and we rush around to bring the clothes inside where we find places to hang them.  In a couple of days they are still wet, so we wear them anyway.

We bathe from a bucket.  A little hot water from the stove mixed with the cold natural water makes a refreshing bucket of bathwater.

We store water in buckets.  Fortunately, we are among the lucky ones who have water from an indoor tap.  Unfortunately, frequently the water to our tap in the house is turned off so we use the water stored in our buckets.

We purify water in buckets.  A chemical purifying process is taking place in our buckets right now, making our water safe to drink.

We appreciate and use our ten plastic buckets every day.

Our Renaissance Man

Bariki (which means "blessing") is the head guard at our school, but he is much more than that.  He is a handyman, and the first person to call, when we have a problem with locks, doors, water, electricity, masonry, plumbing, or almost anything.  He recently repaired the school's water supply pipes, ending our 3 1/2 days without water.

At the Lutheran church just outside our gates, Bariki sets up the sound system, directs the youth choir, and plays the organ.  He also plays other musical instruments.  During our Form 6 graduation ceremony in February, Bariki and 3 other musicians led the procession of graduating students.  He was playing the trombone.

(I tried to upload a photo here, but after 2 failed attempts that took 20 minutes each, I gave up).

Bariki is Maasai.  He usually wears Western-style clothes, but we occasionally see him in the colorful tribal shuka, or robe, when he is on guard duty.  Many Maasai men work as guards, and they can be impressive.  They get respect from man and beast.

Bariki speaks Swahili, and, I assume, the Maasai language.  He also speaks English better than we speak Swahili.  I don't know his academic skills, but at this point, almost nothing would surprise me.  He is our Renaissance man.

Entrepreneurship

This is a nation of small entrepreneurs.  Despite extensive government ownership (due to the father of the country introducing socialism after independence in the 1960s), 18th century economist Adam Smith would recognize the activities of the common people here as capitalistic.  In cities, towns, and villages, there are innumerable tiny shops selling an assortment of goods, from grocery staples to stationary to clothing, new and used.  Carpenters work out of small buildings or under a makeshift roof and take orders to build beds, tables, chairs, or whatever is needed.  People set up tables along the roadside to sell produce from their gardens.  Women set up charcoal stoves on street corners to fry fish or maandazi (muffins), or roast corn cobs, and sell them to passersby.  At the official marketplaces, people sell produce, shoes, jewelry, used clothing, household goods, and videos, much like a flea market in the States. 

Even middle-class people get into the act.  Some of the teachers at our school have sidelines selling phones, beauty products, vitamins, dresses, shoes, and purses.  (I know, this sounds like Avon, Pampered Chef, and Tupperware.)  There is a very nice house nearby on a path used by primary school students on their way to and from school.  The lady of the house (or possible the maid) sets up a display of snacks and drinks on the front porch every afternoon, to sell to the children after school.  

One of the surprising thing to me is the fact that vendors are allowed to hawk their wares to teachers in the staff lounge.  Yesterday, during our mid-morning break, a woman made a pitch for the health benefits of green tea, and invited the teachers to a seminar this weekend.  Other times, people have promoted magazine subscriptions, kitchenware, and even underwear!  Some of the Tanzanian teachers react with interest to these pitches, and all are tolerant of them.  As I was told, these people have to make a living, and they have a very small profit margin on their goods.

But this is all small potatoes stuff.  Business on a larger scale runs into barriers of bureaucracy and corruption.  A small business owner in Arusha tells us of the difficulties of getting permits.  He has a Facebook page but not a website, so as not to attract the attention of the authorities.  A permit for a website is costly, and leads officials to think that a person has money for taxes and bribes.

Another barrier is lack of capital.  The small entrepreneur can borrow funds from family and friends, but it is very difficult to get business loans from banks for a larger business.  International sources of funds often hesitate to supply them because of the corruption and bureaucratic inefficiency here.   Until the country can clean up those issues, the larger economy will not thrive.   

Verbal Oddities

Many things are just a little different here, and some of them are verbal.

First, there are what I call "Britishisms".  It's not just the spelling of words like metre and colour, but words that strike my American ear strangely.  Like "revision", which is used as I use "review".  When I first heard, "I am doing revisions with my class today", I thought, "Huh?  What are you changing?"     Another one is "invigilate", which is used as I would use "proctor"--to supervise students taking a test.

And, of course, there is the often-used phrase "doing our level best", which is at least understandable.  As a math teacher, I even like it better than the American claim of giving 110% of one's effort.    

Then there are words that give me pause because they are not used with the same implication as at home.  The usage of "somehow" and "somewhere" are the biggest offenders.  As in, "I live down there, somewhere."  The speaker does know where he lives, but doesn't feel like being specific.  Or, "Somehow, I am a student teacher."  The speaker isn't casting doubt on his abilities or making a statement about how he came to be a student teacher.  It just seems to be a meaningless tag word, like some of us use "so".

So,...finally, there are the gasps.  When I am talking with a person, usually a woman, she will often utter short gasps.  It's startling, to say the least, because what I am saying is not frightening or momentous.  It took awhile, but I finally realized that the gasps are just acknowledgement, like we would say "uh-huh".

But all of these expressions are becoming more familiar, so don't be surprised if you hear me utter them, when I return home in 18 months' time.  Of course, I might also be spouting Swahili occasionally too, calling mangoes "maembe" and chicken "kuku".  (Great word for chicken, don't you think?)

Tutaonana!

What We Eat

 

I was recently asked what we eat, here.  The short answer is:  lots of rice.  But we also eat other things.

Our school provides lunch and a mid-morning tea break (Thank you British colonialism!) on school days. Tea is hot, sweet tea with maandazi, which can best be described as deep-fried plain muffins. Two days a week at lunch we eat beans and rice and two days a week we eat pilau, which is seasoned rice with a few small bits of beef in it. On Wednesdays we eat ugali, which is corn meal cooked with water until it has the look and consistency of stiff, grainy mashed potatoes. This is served with beef and gravy. The beef chunks come complete with bones and cartilage. Side dishes are always either overcooked greens or a cabbage salad. Often bananas or orange slices are served as well. These lunches are a nice, convenient perk, if a bit tedious.

 
Breakfast at home is usually a peanut butter sandwich and sometimes a boiled egg. For dinner I cook pasta primavera or hot dogs (available at our local shop and called "sausages".) I often cook thinly-sliced pan-fried potatoes with scrambled eggs. Once in a while I can get ground beef, which I can make into hamburger patties or serve in a tomato sauce over pasta. I have started buying a chicken on weekends, especially if we don't make the trip into Arusha. (See the blog titled "Chicken and Eggs").

When we do get to the big city we treat ourselves to a nice meal. There are a number of good restaurants in Arusha. Our favorite is an Indian place where we usually order chicken dishes.  The proprietor is an amiable and friendly man who went to a university in the UK, and  took over the restaurant when his father died.  His newest project is origami folding of paper napkins.  Last time we ate there the colorful napkins looked like short-sleeved sport shirts.

There is a lot of fresh produce available here. We eat mangoes, bananas, pineapples, papaya, watermelon, and even plums and grapes when they are in season. We can also get yogurt.

All in all, not a bad diet. I miss eating fish. Fresh-water fish is the best bet here in our small town, but it is mainly available deep-fried by mamas on street corners. I miss salmon filets. And sushi. And Thai food. And cheese. And nice, greasy Italian subs. Does that make me a spoiled American? Maybe, but there it is.