A Culture in the Midst of Change

Tanzania has many tribes (72 is the number I have heard, but there may be more).  The most well-known of these by the outside world is the Maasai.  Traditionally, Maasai have been nomadic cattle herders, but that has been changing in recent decades.  Pressures from government and the rest of society have pushed more and more of them to settle down, farm, and even move to cities.  Yet, they value their culture and are proud of it, and some continue to set themselves apart from the increasingly westernized rest of the country through their clothing, language, and occupations.

Most of the students and some of the teachers at our school are Maasai.  Last week we attended the wedding of two Maasai teachers that highlighted the different ways that people have reacted to societal pressures to conform.

Both of the teachers are bright, well-educated, and fluent in at least three languages:  English, Swahili, and Maa, the language of the Maasai.  They wear western-style clothing and are technology-savvy.  The wedding ceremony was in a Lutheran church, and was as conventional as any we have attended.  We noticed that the wedding guests were variously attired in a range of clothing from very western, such as would pass unnoticed in an American church, to the colorful long dresses commonly worn by women in small-town Tanzania, to total Maasai tribal garb with shukas (robes) and layers of beads.  At the reception, it became evident that most of the people in westernized dress belonged to the groom's family and the tribally dressed people belonged to the bride's.  Mid-way during the festivities, the fathers of the bride and groom made short speeches.  The groom's father wore a tweed sports jacket, dress shirt, tie, and trousers, and spoke in Swahili.  The bride's father wore shukas and beads, and spoke in Maa.

Diverse gifts were presented to the couple.  They included a 26" flat-screen computer monitor, from the other teachers, and 10 goats and a cow, from the bride's immediate family.  This last was a very impressive gift:  the average cost of a cow is about 2 months of a teacher's salary.

The future of the newly-wedded couple looks bright in terms of economic and educational success.  They have good, secure jobs in the government school system.  Their children will be educated at least as well as they themselves are. Will the children grow up knowing the Maasai traditions?  Will they speak Maa?  Will they maintain a feeling of belonging to a unique culture?  Will the couple keep the cow and goats, or sell them and buy modern conveniences?  Only time will tell.    

 

Rainwater Harvesting

Our school is in a dry area of this country, and it regularly runs out of water due to continuing drought conditions.  The school serves almost 800 students, including 470 boarding students, plus teachers and staff, and it needs a continuous supply of water to maintain a clean and healthy learning environment.  The drought poses many problems at the school, including threatening the health and welfare of its students, and impeding their education through imposing a financial burden on the school.  When the school has no water, cooking, cleaning, and bathing is a challenge.  The students often must spend their time and money making unsupervised treks off the school compound to fill their buckets with water purchased from other sources.  Unsupervised expeditions by students away from school are normally carefully monitored by teachers, except for this mass exit of students away from school in search of water.  These off-campus trips put the students at risk of making contacts that lead to HIV infection, pregnancy, and other undesirable outcomes.                                                                                                                                                                         

At the request of our headmistress, we formed a committee which decided to build two rainwater harvesting systems.  We located one system near the school's kitchen (it takes a lot of water to cook beans and rice) and the other adjacent to the girls' dormitories.  We applied for and received U.S. government grants to partially finance the project and the school raised matching funds.   Construction started immediately after the funds were received, to take advantage of the rapidly approaching rainy season. 

The systems consist of gutters installed on dormitory and classroom buildings, which direct rainwater via pipes into four 5000 liter water tanks.  The tanks are elevated on sturdy cement-block stands, and connected to a spigot for access.  One of the tanks is piped directly to the kitchen and the other three are available for student use.  We found that a rainfall of between 1 and 2 centimeters on the roofs will fill the tanks to the top, and supply the school with 20,000 liters of clean water.  The system is low-maintenance, and virtually costless.  The students now have free, safe access to clean water on campus.       

A Few Words About Albinos

Early in our time here, I would occasionally spot someone from a distance in our small town and think, "Oh, there's another white person!"  Only when I got a closer look would I realize that the person was an Albino.  Albinism is a congenital disorder that results in very little pigment in the skin, hair, and eyes.  It shows up rarely in this population, but it is very noticeable.  Albinos have pinkish skin and in that regard resemble a blond Caucasian, but have Black African facial features and hair texture.

Albinos have it tough in this country in several ways.  They have to be very careful to protect themselves from the sun.  We are only 3 degrees from the equator, and our town is a mile high, so the sun's rays are intense.  Albinos must wear long sleeves, hats or scarves, and often sunglasses, even indoors.  The other danger for them lies in superstition and ignorance.  In some remote areas of the country, they have been subject to witchcraft-related murder and maiming.  Their body parts are believed by some to have magical properties.     

The more educated people of the country do not believe this, however, and in places where the legal system is functioning well, such crimes are prosecuted and punished.  We have a new teacher at our school who is an Albino, and I am happy to observe that the other teachers do not discriminate against him, but treat him like any other Tanzanian.

 

A Day in the Life of a PCV

Most of my scribblings in this space have been topical--discussing various aspects of my experience here in Tanzania.  Today I want to take my readers through a typical day, to provide some idea of the life we live.

I've always been an early riser, but now I have an extra incentive to be up before 5:00 a.m.  Our house is on the school campus, meaning that we share the school's water supply with 470 boarding students and several teachers.  We are fortunate to have running water piped into our house; the students must fetch water for bathing and laundry by carrying a bucket to an outside spigot.  They are wakened by a bell at 5:30, but there are always early birds up before that time.  From the time they get up until the start of classes, the demand for water is constant, and the water pressure so low that it usually doesn't reach our faucets.  So, I get up early to beat the rush and fill pots of water to heat for our baths and a pot to boil for coffee, tea, and drinking water.

On weekdays, after breakfast (usually a peanut butter sandwich), I walk over a gully on a log bridge to the classroom area, to sign in at the office.  On the way, I pass students cutting grass with grass whips or sweeping the dirt paths with brushes made of reeds.  They always seem to have a smile for me as they say, "Good morning, Madam!"

I see other teachers, and we greet each other in the usual way, with a handshake.  Then, we chat and wait for the morning assembly in the quad.  The students are a colorful sight in their uniforms.  Along with black trousers (boys) or skirts (girls), each class wears a different color sweater:  blue, purple, red, or green.  On Mondays and Fridays, assembly starts with the scouts proudly playing their newly acquired drums, fifes, and cymbals, raising the flag and accompanying the students as they sing the national anthem and school song.  Then follow various announcements and dismissal for the first class of the day.

I teach first-year math to 3 classes of almost 50 students each.  Some students are good in math, but most of them struggle.  Between classes and after them I do teacherly tasks such as writing lesson plans and marking homework.  I also spend time chatting with other teachers.  Casual, one-on-one conversation is an important way for us to learn about the culture of each other's country.  

Today, after my first class, I walk back to the dorm area to see if the workman who needs to connect some pipes for our grant-funded rainwater harvesting project has arrived.  This is a construction of gutters, pipes, and water tanks that will direct rainwater off the roof of a dormitory building into two 5000 liter holding tanks for the students to use for bathing, laundry, and cleaning.  Water is scarce in this area, and additional supply is sorely needed.  The construction is nearly finished, only needing a workman to spend a couple more hours here, but he has not appeared, yet again.  I trudge back to the school office to ask the headmistress if perhaps the school handyman could finish the work, or if we should wait a few more days for the gutter installer to show up.  She will try to call him, and we decide to wait one more day. 

We have a tea and snack break at 10:40, then there are more classes until lunch at 2:40.  Today is Thursday, so lunch is beans and rice, with a side dish of mchicha, which is similar to spinach.  Tea and lunch are provided to teachers and school staff five days a week.  It's a nice perk, and very convenient.

Occasionally I teach a late class on Monday or Tuesday.  Wednesday is Math Club when the school schedule allows, but on days when I have neither class nor club I leave campus after lunch to shop at the market for ingredients for dinner.  We don't have a refrigerator, so I buy food almost every day.

At home, I relax for a while by working a Sudoku puzzle and reading a book on my Kindle.  We buy internet time approximately 4 days a week, so on those days I spend time catching up with the rest of the world on our laptop.  Then, Mark takes his turn to listen to music and watch episodes of TV shows stored on the computer, and I have a glass of box wine while I cook dinner.  I hear students outside the kitchen window, laughing and shouting.  The hubbub dies down when they go to dinner themselves.  They have study time after dinner, so it's quiet until 10 p.m. when they return to the dorms and bed.  Mark and I are usually sound asleep long before then, tired from the early start to our day. 

Cycle of Life

In the year and a half we have been in our small town, some Tanzanian friends have borne babies and some have gotten married. I have blogged about both those events, so, I guess it rounds out the cycle of life to report on the funeral we attended a couple of weeks ago.

Mrs. Mbwambo, the wife of a teacher at our school, had gone to the town of Lushoto to visit their daughter at her boarding school.  On the return trip, her bus collided with a truck while trying to pass a smaller vehicle.  She had a badly broken arm and was taken to a good hospital in Moshi.  She was treated and seemed to be on the road to recovery, but she died suddenly of complications.  She was 42 years old.

When a person passes away here, all their friends, neighbors, and family members gather at the person's home every day until the funeral.  We went the day after we heard the news, with a group of other teachers.  Men wear their everyday clothes for the condolence call, but women wear a kanga, or two, for the visit and for the funeral itself.  Kangas are colorful and versatile pieces of cotton fabric that can be wrapped around the waist to wear as a skirt, wrapped higher up to make a sarong, or worn as a shawl.  In this case, women usually wear one as a skirt and another as a shawl.  Kangas have slogans printed above the lower border.  (Mine says, "Mtoto kwa mzazi hakui", which means, loosely, "To a parent, a child doesn't grow up.")  We saw several kangas at the funeral with the slogan meaning "All is God's work."  We wondered if they were made especially for funerals. 

We walked to the Mbwambo home on the other side of our small town.  We could identify the house from a distance because it was the one with the open-sided tents set up in the yard, a sound system playing hymns, and at least 50 people visiting.  We made our way to the porch where the widower sat, shook hands, and said "Pole sana" (very sorry) to him and to anyone who looked like a relative.  We then sat with other mourners under a tent and listened to the hymns for an hour or so.

Friends, neighbors, and family contribute to a "condolence fund", and we did as well, along with all the other teachers at our school.  The bereaved family uses the money to finance funeral expenses--not just a coffin, but the tent rental, sound system, and food for the mourners, who may spend all day at the home.  Close friends and neighbors take time off work in the days before a funeral, to spend time with the bereaved family.

Two days after our condolence visit was the funeral itself, which was also held at the home, in the front yard.  Mrs. Mbwambo was a grade school teacher, a member of her church choir, and a long-time member of the community, so hundreds of people attended the service.  People began assembling in the morning, but we and many others arrived a little before 2 pm.  Lunch was served before the service began, with 3 buffet lines set up on the property. 

The Christian service began after lunch, and many parts of it were familiar to us.  There were prayers, eulogies, and a sermon.  (Sermons in Tanzania tend to be lengthy.  Parishioners expect a pastor to speak for as long as he or she has something to say.)  Three different choirs sang, each more than once.  Then it was time for final goodbyes.  The casket, highly polished wood with ornate brass fittings, had been closed, but now was opened so mourners could file past for a last look at the deceased.  This was a highly emotional event.  The widower himself and his children were relatively stoic,  but female relatives and friends were wailing and sobbing.  Some had to be helped back to their seats.  After the last viewing, the casket was closed and carried away, to the accompaniment of one of the choirs.  Many people followed the casket, and others just got up and moved around.  We expected that the next stop would be a cemetery, so we were surprised to learn that she was to be buried beside the house.  I actually think that is a nice alternative, here.  Cemeteries generally seem neglected, with towering weeds and wind-blown trash.  By burying a loved one near the home, the family can maintain the gravesite regularly.

We found the condolence visits and the funeral very touching.  The whole week underlined for us the importance of the community in this culture.  People are closely involved in their neighbors' life events, and participate in them fully.  

Theft!

We've been warned about crime in Arusha, and we do our best to protect ourselves, but recently the malefactors got the upper hand.

We go to the city a couple of times a month to visit the bank and shop for goods we can't find in our small town.  We come back with such things as olives, canned tuna, plum jelly, paper towels, and our liquor of choice.  We take a backpack with us for carrying our purchases easily.

Arusha's sidewalks are always busy with vendors, walkers, and people standing around conversing, so we normally walk single file.  One day last month, we had done some of our shopping and were on our way to another store when the sidewalk became exceptionally crowded with young men.  I was in the lead and I picked up my pace a little to try to outstrip the mass of people.  I didn't realize this was a setup, with the goal of filching things from the backpack Mark was wearing.

The crowd cleared suddenly and Mark caught up with me, saying, "Check the backpack.  See what's missing."  One of the zippered compartments was gaping open.  After a quick inventory, I realized that the only thing stolen was a plastic bag holding a small package of raisins.  Tanzanians don't eat raisins, which can only be found here in one or two shops that cater to Indians and Westerners.  I'm sure that the thieves expected us (old white people) to be carrying something more valuable--electronics, perhaps.  It gives me wicked satisfaction to think of them inspecting their booty and saying the equivalent of, "What the heck is this?"

Malaria Program

Malaria is a serious problem here.  One Tanzanian dies of malaria every 5 minutes.  It's the #1 child killer, with 1 in 5 under 5 years old dying of malaria-related diseases.  It is especially dangerous for pregnant women and their babies.  The women are susceptible to certain strains and may become dangerously anemic.  Without treatment, the disease can be passed to the child and contribute to low birth weight and other problems.

Malaria is somewhat less prevalent in our community than in other areas of the country, due to our high altitude and dry climate, but it is still a major health problem.  I have information on malaria and a DVD of a Swahili-language movie with a malaria theme that was given to us by the Peace Corps, so one of the teachers at our school and I decided to hold a malaria information session last Saturday. 

Of course, no enterprise here takes place without bumps along the road.  I had given the DVD to my teacher friend for her to preview.  She liked and approved of it, so we planned the program.  On Friday, she brought the DVD into work and showed it to one of the other teachers who share her office.  Then she had to go to class, and the other teacher said she would put the DVD into my friend's spacious handbag, which she left on her desk.   We planned the event for Saturday morning at 9:00.  My friend arrived somewhat late, and distressed, as she could not find the DVD.  Not in her purse, not in her office, not in her home.  She went to the house of the teacher who had been looking at it, and was told that it had indeed been put in her handbag as promised.  Then she commenced calling the other teachers who shared her office.  Finally, one of them reported that she had seen a new teacher take the DVD out of her purse.  Well, we didn't have this teacher's phone number.  We ended up calling the vice-principal, who not only gave us his number but also called the man himself.  Luckily, he lives nearby, and he gave the DVD to a messenger who finally delivered it to us.

A couple things to keep in mind.  Foremost, this is a communal society.  People are used to sharing things as a matter of course.  In my classroom, students pass pens pencils, erasers, and rulers back and forth constantly.  Often, these things do not get back to their original owners.  But it's polite to make a request before taking something.  So, my friend was distressed and worried about the event because it interfered with our program, but she was not as furious as I would have been about someone taking something from my purse.  The other thing is that people are generally not confrontational here.  She simply talked to the culprit quietly and got it back.  I managed not to say, "Where I come from, that's called STEALING!"   

So, we finally recovered the DVD,  and were able to start the program at 11:00.  I had been entertaining the students who had arrived earlier by playing music and showing photos that we had stored on our laptop, but we were all happy to get started.

Forty-four students, mostly girls, participated in the program.  We watched the movie, then had a discussion about malaria in Tanzania, disease prevention, malaria in pregnancy, and the myths and superstitions surrounding the disease.  (For example:  sleeping under in insecticide-treated mosquito net makes a man impotent!)  Students loved the movie and enjoyed and learned from the discussion.  I hope that it will help them protect themselves and their families from this disease.