Nee-ah-GAR-ah

It's been chilly here, even though we are only 3 degrees south of the equator.  We are about a mile high (think "Denver"), and July is the coldest month of the year.  I don't have a thermometer, but it feels like it has been dropping into the upper 40s at night.  Homes and schools aren't heated or insulated, so we bundle up to keep comfortable.

Mark has been wearing his hooded Niagara University sweatshirt regularly, and it always gets a reaction from the Tanzanians who see it.  They say that the word "Niagara" looks like an African word, and wonder where the university is.  Mark tells them that it's in America, and they can hardly believe it.  Then he explains that Niagara is a name from the Iroquois tribe that means "flowing water".  Tribes and tribal languages resonate with the people here, so then they understand.

And Nee-ah-GAR-ah?  That's how a speaker of Swahili pronounces "Niagara".

Motorcades

We've seen a number of motorcades in the past month.  The first was when we arrived back in Tanzania after our trip to Ghana.  Striding through the airport, we were approached by several taxi drivers.  We told them, "No thank you.  We will go by dala-dala."  One had the effrontery to lie, "Obama is in town.  The dala-dalas aren't running."  Which, of course, was ridiculous.  Obama was not due for 2 more days.

We made our way to the dala-dala stop across the street from the airport.  Three of the minibuses stopped, but they were so packed we did not even attempt to board with our backpacks.  Then, suddenly, there was no more traffic headed into the city.  Peering down the road, we could see cars and trucks stopped at the next intersection.  So we waited.  And waited.  More and more people gathered at the bus stop.

After a few minutes, we heard small cannon--Boom!  Boom!  Boom!--from the direction of the airport.  People around us started to take out their cell phones.  I heard some of them say "Obama".  Eventually, motorcycles sped past, sirens sounding and lights flashing.  Then there were police vehicles, Land Rovers, and a limousine with dark windows.  More police vehicles and a bus full of white men in black suits followed.  (One of them pulled out a small camera and snapped a photo of the people standing at the bus stop. I wonder what he thought when he saw me and Mark with our pale faces in the crowd.)  Last in the motorcade was an ambulance.  Soon, regular traffic was allowed to flow, and we took a dala-dala to our destination.  We found out later that various heads of state and diplomatic ministers were in the city that week, and it was one of them who passed us.  President Obama arrived later in the week.  (And would have had a longer motorcade).

We had a similar experience last weekend.  We were on our way to Arusha for shopping and lunch when our dala-dala was pulled over, not once, but twice for motorcades.  The president of Tanzania was appearing at a local event.  Once it was clear what was happening, most of the people on the dala-dala got out and stood alongside the road to get a better view.  After 10 minutes or so, the motorcade sped past--sirens, motorcycles, police, limo, more police, and, finally, an ambulance.  The passengers, driver, and conductor scrambled to re-board so that our vehicle could be first of the several stopped along the road to pull out and be on our way.

We were stopped once more on our return trip from Arusha.  Watching a motorcade was a fun experience the first time or two, but I'm a little tired of having our travels interrupted.

Trip to Ghana

Our school break was in June, and after grading exams and completing reports we had weeks of free time.  We decided to visit our friend Rose in Ghana.  Hey, we're on the same continent, right?  It should be easy.

When discussing arrangements for our visit, Rose asked if we already had visas.  Oop!  No.  So, we went in search of how to get them.  Internet was no help.  Is there a Ghanaian embassy or consulate in Tanzania?  Nope.  Finally we learned that we could possibly get them on  arrival at the airport.  Rose's businessman brother kindly supplied us with a letter stating that he would be responsible for us during our stay.  It turned out that his letter made all the difference in the attitudes of the immigration officials who supplied the visas.  They went from suspicious to cooperative in an instant.

We flew into Accra at night and were amazed at the size of the city.  It has a population of over two million, and twinkling lights extended far into the distance.  We learned that the city is growing rapidly, due to people moving in from rural areas in search of opportunity.

Rose met us and took us to her lovely home in a suburb of Accra.  She put us into a guest room with the best bed we have slept on in a year.

We saw many similarities between Ghana and Tanzania.  The people are friendly in both countries.  People live in similar-looking houses, which are not built of wood because they would be destroyed by termites before they could be completed.  Instead, the houses of those who can afford it are usually built of cement block, even interior walls.  The more well-off add wall finishes, tile floors, and ornate ceilings.  Middle-class and wealthy homeowners live in walled compounds with gates and sometimes gatekeepers.  Crime is a factor in housing construction in countries where there is much poverty, as well as the fact that local police cannot always be relied on for protection.

Those able to afford it have a main house in the walled compound and a smaller one for servants' quarters.  The people who live in the small house may actually be servants or may just be younger members of the extended family.  In any case, homes at any economic level need a lot of help to run.  Even those who can afford modern appliances experience power outages.  A washing machine and dryer are not labor-saving if there is no electricity to run them.  Convenience foods are rare, expensive, and less tasty than meals made from scratch.  Hence the need for help running a household.  And, (looking back at my economic training) when labor is cheaper and more reliable than labor-saving devices, people have household help.

Rose took us on a tour of Accra, which is a cleaner and more modern city than any in Tanzania.  We were also surprised and pleased that all of the street signs and billboards were in English!  Ghana's national language is English, but there are many tribal languages as well.  We visited a textile market that was full of the colorful and textured Kente cloth.  I did not buy any then, as I noticed that people do not use it for everyday wear.  It is only for special occasions.  We went to Kwame Nkrumah Memorial Park, which contains the museum and tomb of the father of the country.  I found myself affected more than I had expected by the museum, which held, among copies of his books and some of his furniture, photos of him with John F Kennedy, Mao Tse Tung, and Fidel Castro:  people right out of the headlines of my childhood, during a turbulent time in history.

Another day we visited a dam east of Accra that provides electricity to most of the country.  It was an impressive spot.  Along the way we noted that the small towns and villages, with their tiny shops and street vendors, look very much the same as those in Tanzania.

Mid-week we did some shopping and errands with Rose, and had lunch at her sister's beautiful home.  Rose's many sisters and brothers--some of them cousins-- form a close, extended family, complete with nieces, nephews, aunties, and uncles.  Older people are shown deference in the culture and it is the duty of children to help their elders.  As a senior myself, I approve of the system.

At the end of the week we took a trip to Kakum Forest, which lies a couple of hours to the west of the city.  The traffic is so heavy that it took us 90 minutes to clear the suburbs.  Kakum is a rainforest preserve with rope bridges suspended from treetop to treetop.  We were told that no one had ever fallen from the bridges, so, with some misgivings, I made my way across them  I found that looking down was not so scary, as all I could see was the tops of smaller trees.  The worst part is when the twenty-somethings in front of me got playful and rocked the bridge.  I spoke to them sternly (Hooray for the culture of respect for elders!) and they stopped.

On our way back to Accra we stopped at Cape Coast Castle built hundreds of years ago for trade.  The fort was used as an assembly point for captured slaves waiting for ships to take them to the west.  It's a solemn spot, but the coastline there is beautiful, similar to Cinque Terra, in Italy.

The next evening we boarded our plane back to Tanzania, happy to have been able to visit our dear friend and to have met some of her family.  We plan to see her next in just over a year, in Florida.               

Just when I thought we were street-savvy...

We were in Dar es Salaam about a month ago.  The city, which has one of the county's two major airports, seemed to swarm with Peace Corps volunteers.  All of us who teach in Tanzania were on holiday, and many were either traveling or meeting families who came to visit.  We ran into one friend and her parents and the five of us decided to have dinner on the street.  In the towns and cities here, dusk brings the emergence of street food vendors.  These vary from very simple, a mama grilling corn cobs over a charcoal fire, to more elaborate, with tables, chairs, and printed menus.  On a parking lot near a hotel popular with PCVs was one of the latter, and we opted to eat there.  We sat down at a table and a man arrived and asked if he could help us.  We asked for menus and he brought them, and after a few minutes he reappeared and asked us what we wanted to order.  We told him in a mixture of Swahili and English, and he sat down with us and slowly and laboriously wrote on a piece of paper.  He then left to turn in our order.

At this point, everything seemed fine.  If the waiter seemed a little uninformed about the menu options, well, that was not unusual.  He may have been new at the job.  He was certainly friendly enough and seemed eager to be of help.  We were too busy chatting and sharing stories to pay much attention to anything odd about his behavior.

A few minutes later, the man returned chatted a while, and then totaled the cost of our order.  We paid him, and he left, never to be seen again.

Some time later, our food was delivered by different people.  There seemed to be some confusion about exactly what was ordered. Soon the proprietor came to our table, and we discovered that the man who so helpfully took our orders and our money was not a waiter at all, but a con artist.  He did turn in the orders, telling the owner that he was our guide, but he took off with the cash.  Well, our food was partially eaten by that time, and consternation was felt all around.  The owner graciously did not charge us for the meal.  Later, he returned to our table and told us that some of his employees recognized the man, and that he would be caught.  I am sure he was made to pay, in one way or another.  People in this country have no tolerance for thieves, who are often subject to mob justice.        

Lessons learned:  Always be aware of your surroundings, and never pay for something before you receive it.

The Uhuru Torch

The Uhuru Torch visited our school last week.  Uhuru means Freedom in Swahili (did you know that, Star Trek fans?),  and this torch is the symbol of Tanzania.  When the country achieved  independence in 1961, the torch was carried to the top off Mt
Kilimanjaro, to symbolically shine the light of freedom across the  whole country.  Now, the torch travels from town to town every year,  much like the Olympic torch.  And it came to our school!  Great  anticipation and preparations!  Mark and I even have Uhuru Torch polo shirts.   (They only had XXL, so mine hangs on me like a dress).

Of course, in typical Tanzanian fashion, it was 2 hours later than we  were told, but no one minded, not even us.  And, it only stayed about  15 minutes, but that was OK too.  It spent the night on the market grounds in our town

I've attached a photo.  That's our headmistress in a blue track suit  in the middle, reading a prepared statement.  The other people in  track suits escort the torch, as do the soldiers. The people who carry the torch wear masks for protection from the fumes.  Students are in the  background of the photo, and behind them is a classroom where I teach,  Do you see  the boy in the Boy Scout shirt?  There is a scout troop at our school.    The shirts, when they manage to acquire them, are probably donated to   Goodwill or whatever in the U.S., and make their way to Africa.  They  all say "Boy Scouts of America" on the front.

What an exciting end to the term for all involved.  Now we have a few weeks off before the next term starts.  We'll relax, get caught up on chores, and do some traveling. 

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.