Living the Double Life

Sometimes it’s hard living in Africa. Your “standard of comfort” as I call it is rather low….you get used to dirt, sweat, crowded places, trash everywhere, the list goes on. But then again, life for us “mzungus” (white people) is still really plush compared to the average Tanzanian. I will admit, my new apartment is in the nicest and most expensive complex in town, with guard and laundry washing facilities included. Sweet.

I was thinking about this when we went on an outing last weekend to an exclusive resort called Lazy Lagoon. Completely isolated on a 9 kilometer island, this hotel resort really takes “mzungu standard of living” to a higher level. When we arrived, not only was the pool sparkling clean, but the lodge and restaurant was so luscious and comfortable, you could understand how the name Lazy Lagoon could really fit the place. Even the food itself was incredible, every bite left you wanting more, with combinations of local fresh fish and vegetables. The owner had to kick us off the island at the end of the day, and we rather reluctantly left.

It really makes you think though. Here I feel like we live like kings, staying in hotels and eating in restaurants for what seems like chump change to the average westerner. Of course I think of my students for example, who have only travelled with their school group, and would not normally get the chance to eat out or go to a fancy resort. They probably will never know what they are missing out on, or how life is in other places, like Europe where every kid is typing their homework on a fancy iPad instead of using old notebooks and pencils borrowed from school. And they probably will never know what nice pool and beach exists at Lazy Lagoon, a mere 20 minutes away from their homes.

Life long lessons on how to be a good Tanzanian wife

No trip in any country is sucessful without at least one couchsurfing experience. For those of you who don't know about it or haven't heard me preach its values for hours, check out the website, it speaks for itself: www.couchsurfing.org.

I finally convinced my friends that it would be a good idea to go to Dar Es Salaam, the largest city in Tanzania (and least popular, surprise surprise). Why not try couchsurfing and go out like locals?? Our group was a little bigger than intended, but our host Maricky didn't even hesitate when I added a fourth person to our count. We really had no idea what to expect when we waited at the old post office for our Tanzanian host to show up. It soon became apparent that we were in for a crazy night when he introduced us to his French friend, and then Argentian friends who would all be sleeping with us in two small rooms. Well, at least one of them had a bed.

The important thing to note here is that while my companions went off with Maricky to "explore the town" (they made it as far as the local bar and took a looonnng break) I decided to stay with the women who were actually cooking our dinner. I wanted to learn how to make rice pilau.

Language was of course, as always a barrier, and we didn't get much past "hello, how are you?" and "good," but as usual, language isn't really a problem, it's only 20% of our communicative powers. I ended up over the next few hours spending time with the individual families in our courtyard, talking to the women, watching them cook over coal stoves. One woman even invited me to eat with her family, she was so smiley and had me sit and try everything. Sadly I had to decline since we already had pilau on the way.

It took a while but I did eventually meet two ladies who spoke some English, and then we had a proper conversation, or the best we could given the language barrier. We compared notes about countries, and live choices. "Is that man that was here before your husband?" Uh oh.....I awkwardly tried to explain my way through our "relationship" as boyfriend and girlfriend with limited success.

As the evening continued I watched and somewhat participated in helping our new friend cook for all of us. As her husband explained everything to us, I quickly realized that the kitchen was definitely not his domain. "Do you ever cook?" I asked, cheekily. "Yeah sure! I can cook rice...sometimes...."

The food was wonderful, and I was amazed at how well she prepared everything over such a simple stove outside on the dirt ground. As we prepared to go out, I talked to one of my new friends who was preparing "ugali," a typical Tanzanian polenta that you eat with vegetables and meat. "Are you going out?" she asked. "Yes, do you want to come? " I asked, already knowing the answer as I had seen her go out already, but during the day, and with a veil. "No thank you. I am Muslim, and we do not drink or dance. Dancing is a sin. I will see you tomorrow." And with that I left, feeling guilty as ever.

And so we managed to all squeeze in somewhere, somehow, and sleep a few hours before the children and women woke us up, playing, shouting, washing, cooking. I began to realize that running a household here takes a lot more time. No wonder women seem to stay at home so much, there's too much to do with all the washing and cooking and cleaning. I was sad to say goodbye, but before I left my new friend insisted on meeting this boyfriend of mine. Fredi shook her hand and spoke a little Swahili before she deemed him appropriate, and gave us her blessing. "I have a good feeling about you two." I guess in this country things are decided quite like that, without question or hesitation. But I'm no Tanzanian woman.

Pole Pole! (pronounced pohlay)

The first rule of living anywhere, is to learn the fun slang words. Right? After all, there are some words that just slip into everyday lingo and next thing you know, it becomes part of your vocabulary. With Swahili, to start learning this language seemed almost like walking on water....it might have something to do with the fact that the last two languages I attempted to tackle were Russian and German....but the learning is still at a slow pace ("pole, pole" means slow, and basically works for everyhing here). I'm not really enrolled in any Migro Klubschule intensive course.

Right, I digress. The point is, it's rather hard to figure out what is "official" and what is "slang," as they all seem to rather meld together. For example, As you're wandering down the street, you can be greeted in any of the numerous ways, and the response is the corresponding word to however they greeted you. For "Mambo" you have plenty of options: "Poa," or "saffi," or "freshi." But if they ask you "Habari?" (what's up?) You HAVE to say "nzuri" (good). You would think this would give you a headache, trying to learn all the responses, but for some reason or another it comes rather naturally. Goodness knows every person on the street will call out to you, almost as if they are testing you to see if you can actually say something in Swahili. When you pass the test, you get a nod of the head. That's when you know you have passed lesson one. Well done grasshopper!

Thoughts from the Steven Tito Academy's new volunteer

And so continues my adventure at Baobob.

I finally was given the chance to take over the classroom with my fellow volunteer Laura. We were excited to plan a full day of English activities, art, and games. But also a little nervous. 13 kids didn't seem like too many, right? How chaotic could it get??? Welll......our first day in the classroom, after several failed attempts at controlled chaos went...chaotic. The kids were still in full holiday swing and the idea of creating paper mache balloons ended up as a floury salty mess. I went home discouraged, annoyed that my first da y as a volunteer hadn't gone as perfectly as I had wanted.

But never say never! We went back to the drawing board with the lesson plans, agreed that splitting up the groups would be the best, and attempted once more. And to our delight, the day went much, much better. The day after their teacher came back from holiday, and things were back to normal. Relief. So my first few days as a teacher? Every day a challenge. But it is a challenging group for many reasons. First, the students are at different levels academically. Some can speak English fluently (such as the son of the school's founder, a woman from New Jersey), while others can barely speak in complete sentences. Some students are 13 years old and very mature for their ages, while others are as young as 6. All in the same class!!!

But there is one thing that almost all of these children have in common: they are bright and eager to learn. I have never met children so excited to come to class (ok I have, but not a huge group like this) and some of them retain so much of what you teach them that it blows you away the next day when they recite everything from yesterday's lesson. It will take a long time for me to really get to know these kids, which is alright. I have 6 months.

The Baobob Home

I think the most exciting part of my trip to Tanzania was the fact that I would finally get a chance to do something I've always wanted to do: volunteer. You would not believe how excited I was when Fredi told me over Skype that he'd done it: he'd found me a school that needs volunteers in Bagamoyo. This whole first week I had to sit on my hands to keep the anticipation down to a high buzz.

The school is called the Steven Tito Academy, and is a private school which takes in kids from the community who have an aptitude for learning, but the finances to persue their education. I wasn't sure what to expect, except that there would be kids, teaching, and work to do.

As myself and the other volunteer (named Laura) drove up to the school with a board member (also a Laura...the irony) I was instantly charmed by the location of the school. Attached to a home for orphaned kids, this school was outside of town on what could be described only as a farm, with cows and goats wandering around, a vegetable patch in the back and plenty of room for the kids to roam free. This is incredible.

The kids themselves were immediately excited to meet us and talk to us. They constantly giggled when they discovered that if they shouted out "Laura" all three of us would turn. It didn't take us long to get acquainted, as we played games in the garden with all of the younger kids from the home running around dangling on our arms, and jumping into the middle of our games.

It didn't take me long to realize that these children are all bright, but have really different levels of English. Nor do I really know what my job is, and probably never will get a clear answer from anyone. Just teach, the "real teachers" will come back from holiday next week. Ok. We may have no idea how far in over our heads we are but one thing is for sure. I will have a lot to write about.....

For more information about the school and the orphanage: http://www.tzkids.org

First days in Bagamoyo

Whenever you travel somewhere new, you never know what to expect. My first impressions in Africa involved me sometimes fighting my way through. I’ve been pushed, pulled, yelled at, begged, and ripped off. My bag even seemed to have a life of its own, as it got dragged and almost pulled onto moving vehicles going any direction except the one I wanted. This was what I feared I would have to expect in my new home, and I prepared myself for the onslaught.

As we walked into to town, I became acutely aware, as always, at how much I stand out as a westerner, and as a woman at that, who obviously doesn’t quite fit into the Muslim fashion. I kept expecting name calling, and people running up…..and to my surprise, and almost disappointment, nothing happened. Sure, people called out, but only to say “Mambo!” (or hello) Wow, get a grip, Laura. Stop pretending you’re a movie star, and be appreciative that you aren’t getting the special treatment. For once, people aren’t bugging you for being different, and it feels…. great!!!!

And I was. For the first time, I wasn’t some “mzungu” tourist hanging out at the local hotel and wandering around the town to check out the cute locals and how they live, expecting people to notice and appreciate me. No, this time it’s even better. Now I’m a resident “mzungu,” one of the many volunteers that wander around the town, buying their food from the market, and eating their lunches at the local restaurants. People know us, almost by name, and they know that we are here for a while, instead of just passing through.

There’s actually quite a big group of us, thanks to the Ifakara Health Institute, an NGO run hospital in town, and a dabbling of schools (like the one I will soon work at) and other projects. It makes life here seem almost…normal. People here don’t treat you tooooo differently, and when I go to the market the prices they tell me right off actually seem like the right ones. I could get used to this, I think. I’ve never been more excited to become part of a community. There’s so much I have to learn.