Week 3

Mizami – In Week 1, I mentioned that about 50% of locals practice traditional African religions. The other 50% here in Shirati are Christian as for some reason Shirati was a hotbed of missionaries in the mid to late-20^th century. Because of this, some local names are in English. Some of the interesting ones I’ve come across include “Goodluck”, “Godbless” and “Mistake”.  One lady I met here is called Mizami (pronounced me-zah-me). The doctor explained to me that she was named after a local missionary at the time that was very well respected in her community. I was confused as to which missionary would have such an odd name; after a while, seeing my perplexion, the doctor explained it to me…Ms. Amy. 
 

“Fernando, Come Quick!” – Last weekend I was sitting with the American doctor in her home (next to the hostel) playing Scrabble with her. We were in the dining room, just a few steps away from the entrance to the home. We thought we heard the door open but no one came in and we kept playing. Soon we heard some noises and the doctor got worried thinking someone might be there unannounced. She went to check outside and I kept thinking how silly and paranoid she was being, we were in Shirati where everyone knows each other and all are super friendly, why was she worried? She came back empty-handed, but soon we heard the noise again. I told her it was probably just the cats or the chicken that are always right outside the door but she again got up to check. Soon she screamed, “Fernando, come quick! Come quick!” As I ran over to her room (where she was), I saw, looking right back at me, a stunned 13-year old boy who had clearly been in the process of going through her stuff. She had, indeed, caught a thief in the act.

It Gets Complicated – I locked the boy inside the room and stayed guard at the door holding it so that he couldn’t get away. Meanwhile the doctor called her neighbor and asked him to rush over. Once he got there, he immediately recognized the boy. He told us that the boy was a well-known mentally challenged thief in the area. His mother had died and his father found a job 4 hours away and so was never around. His father’s second wife was left to take care of him but she didn’t care about him, so he was essentially on his own. He’s gotten good at the art of breaking into homes (clearly as he walked into ours while we were just 15 yards away from the door and we didn’t see him). He goes in, steals money and trades it with older kids for sweets. Thing is, he has no concept of value and so he gets very little for what he steals. For example, after questioning him, he admitted to having been the thief of 60 US Dollars taken from the room of the person staying in the hostel right before I got in. When asked what he did with the money, he said he traded it for 2 packs of biscuits (cookies). Each pack is sold at the market for 30 US cents, so he got 60 cents for 60 dollars. This is normal as older kids know they can take advantage of him. They also know that if he’s caught, he will be the one suffering the consequences. People tend to beat him when they catch him in their homes, thinking it will teach him a lesson. Once, he was turned into the police who beat him and electrocuted him so badly he had to be hospitalized. So what can we do about this boy? For our part, we just gave him a stern talking to about how he was being taken advantage of and needs to realize that and stop doing what he’s doing, and we let him go. Obviously that’s not a long-term solution. After thinking about it a lot this week, I’m still not sure what can be done to help him, and others like him, in a society that does not yet have a place for or means to help the mentally ill.

Explaining Sunburns – My local friends don’t understand when I tell them I am sunburnt (which, even wearing sunscreen, I have now been a couple of times). They also don’t understand why I’ve been getting darker and darker since I got here. One person suggested I go see a local witch doctor as it might be a curse someone put on me. Perhaps I’ve found the explanation for Michael Jackson once and for all. If only we could have gotten him to a witch doctor… 

Explaining Time Zones – My local friends also don’t understand time zones. I’ve tried explaining to them several times that my family, friends and professors back in the States are 8-hours behind us. At first they didn’t get it at all, then once I broke it down to them and kept telling them what time it was “in America” every time they asked (which they would do every few minutes for several hours) it seemed to me like it finally clicked. They went wild in laughter and started several mornings in a row saying how it was weird that Americans were sleeping right now. I thought I had made a breakthrough and that the explanation had fully sunk in, then, about a week later (just yesterday), one of my friends started explaining time zones herself to another local boy. I was very proud, until I heard what she had to say…”in America, they sleep during the morning hours, wake up in the afternoon, and work when its dark outside. They even pretend it’s a different time so that it works better with their sleep schedule.” Back to square one.

Getting Explanations – As much as I’ve been explaining things to my local friends, most of the time, its been my local friends who have been the ones explaining things to me. While its been hard to teach them about time zones, sunburns, and other things like GPS devices or ipods; its been even harder for them to explain to me things like: knowing if a bushy area is prone to snakes, how to climb up a banana tree to fetch some fruit, looking up at a blue sky and knowing whether or not its going to rain that day, and how to have the balance and strength to carry a 50-pound bucket on your head. Every futile attempt I make at each of the above activities after they tell me how to do it leads to laughter and them trying to explain it to me in a different way. They are much better teachers and have a lot more patience for a slow student such as myself then I would.

Food – The most asked question I’ve been getting is “What do you eat there?” So I figured I should address it. In the mornings, breakfast consists of rice pancakes, along with tea and a banana. Lunch is the challenging one; it is always one of two things that I pack and eat while doing my fieldwork. Either a banana and peanut butter sandwich (usually 4 times/week) or an egg and butter sandwich (3 times/week). 7 days a week of having this for lunch has already gotten tiring after 3 weeks, can’t imagine how I’ll feel in 7 more. But I remind myself that I’m getting 3 meals a day, and I should be grateful as that’s more than almost everyone here gets (most have 2 meals a day, breakfast and dinner). For dinner, I usually get some sort of meat and side. About 90% of the time its been either well-cooked goat or fish, and the remainder of the time its been chicken (which I don’t particularly like here as its very dry and has more bone on it than meat). The side dish tends to be either some sort of greens or white rice. Every now and then they’re nice to me and make me french fries or spaghetti which is a great way to let me get a taste of home. The good thing is that I’m eating way healthier than I do in the States, and being environmentally friendly as well since all the food is locally grown by farmers here in Shirati.

The Night Watchman; An Update – Turns out that night watchman I referred to last week wasn’t quite as much a “great guy” as I gave him credit for. His first night of work had been my first night here and from the start I thought he was always a bit too friendly when we talked and always said random things that were all over the place; I assumed that was just his style. I also thought it was weird that I had run into him in town twice and he would come talk to me in Swahili telling me he didn’t speak English, but at nights would talk to me in English. Well, turns out he can only speak English when he’s drunk. And he’s been drunk every single night since I got here. I figured this out a few days earlier when he escorted me home carrying a bottle of beer in each hand instead of the flashlight he’s supposed to have. His fatal mistake was knocking on the hostel owner’s door in the middle of the night, babbling about his dogs; clearly drunk and smelling of alcohol. Needless to say, he is no longer employed here. Anyone know someone else willing to work 7 nights a week, for 10 cents an hour? We’re hiring…

3 Days Without Cleanliness (and later, without power) – Remember last week’s post entitled “4 Days of Darkness”? Well this is its evil stepchild. It is said that “The Lord Giveth, and the Lord Taketh Away”: that he did. Electricity wasn’t a problem at the beginning of the week, we only had 4-hours without it in 3 days! Water decided it wanted its turn in the spotlight. Turns out the water supply for the hostel comes from a source that is several kilometers away. The water is brought via above-ground pipes. Well there apparently was a rupture somewhere in the pipe. It took a day for the plumber to arrive after we summoned him. Another day for him to walk the stretch of above-ground piping doing pressure tests to determine where the problem was, and a final day for him to fix it. During these three days I was without shower, sink and toilet. Within hours of water coming back, the power went out and stayed that way for 3 days. Here’s how I addressed each problem:

Shower – Good thing I brought a lot of deodorant.

Sink – Good thing I brought a lot of Purell.
Toilet – That’s what the woods are for.  
Power – No phone, no computer, no ipod…no problem. Getting used to it J

Clans – During my first week here, I attended a mourning session (see Week 1). This past weekend, I got to attend an actual funeral. Because funerals here are considered the chief way to network with others, they are incredibly well attended. There were almost 2,000 people at the one I went to, and the organization of it all was superb with several different food lines giving different kinds of food depending on the person’s VIP (or lack thereof) status, huge tents set up to give everyone shade, enough rented chairs for everyone to sit in, a sound system and even an MC to run the program and introduce each speaker. They also had a printed program explaining in detail what would happen during each of the funeral’s 4-hours (yeah, they’re really long). In charge of organizing all this is the deceased’s clan. Clans are made up of around 600-1,000 family members and are incredibly well organized with the senior male being the “clan representative” and his senior relatives serving as committee chairs within the clan. Committees include finance, health/well-being, and major events (different clans can and do have more committees, but these are the basic ones). The major events committee will have subcommittees such as “program”, “chairs”, “food”, “water”, “welcoming”, etc That way when a death occurs (or a birth or wedding, but deaths aren’t planned and funerals must happen within a couple days here) each person in the clan knows exactly what they have to do and logistically impressive events happen for thousands of people with just 2 days’ notice. It’s pretty cool!

A Day at the Derby – Another interesting thing from the funeral was the head scarves that were worn by the women. Every lady had her head covered with a scarf and I found that these scarves were the Tanzanian version of going to the Kentucky Derby or the Royal Wedding. Each was really unique, intricate and expressing of fashion and style. It was neat to observe and help me pass the time during the 4-hour ceremony which took place in the local tribal language of Luo. 

All Talk, Little Walk – Locals like to make fun of Tanzanian politicians and business leaders for how good they are at talking but how little they actually do. A recent example comes from recent national Tanzanian news. The largest national beer company, Kilimanjaro Brewery, managed to get all of the Tanzanian media to its headquarters to cover a major community service announcement they had. After an hour-long talk from their CEO about how committed they were to giving back to the community and helping the people of Tanzania, they brought out 4 employees in uniform and each planted a small tree in front of their headquarter building. After much applause and fanfare, the company’s VP came out and gave another 30-minute speech on the importance of this action to the community who will now breathe cleaner air and have a prettier surrounding. Perhaps honorary Master of Public Service degrees are in order?

Batman Strikes at Night – Tuesday night, I awoke in the middle of the night to a bird who had somehow gotten into my room and was flying around wildly inside of it. I knew I was safe inside my mosquito net so I waited it out until the bird finally calmed down. I got out of my net, opened the door to the hallway and tried to shoo it out of my room. The bird didn’t budge. So, I tried turning the light on in the hallway to see if it would attract it over. Again it didn’t move. I tried turning the light on in my room and the thing went nuts, flying around hitting walls and the ceiling before knocking itself out and falling to the ground. That’s when I noticed it wasn’t a bird; it was a bat, and it didn’t like the light. Figuring this out, I kept the light in my room on and turned the hallway one off and waited outside. Within a few minutes it flew out to the hallway. I figured I’d deal with it the next day, at least I could now go back to sleep. The next morning, Batman (as I nicknamed the bat) was nowhere to be found. I searched and searched the house and kept hearing it but could never actually spot it. I gave up, and went about my day as usual. I found out that Batman was a fruit bat and would not attack me. However, I should also be careful not to touch it or let it touch me as it can carry certain diseases that I’d personally prefer not to acquire. The proper thing to do, I was told, is to role up some papers (or my notebook), like a bat, and whack it (like a baseball). This will disorient Batman for a while, allowing me to cover him with a pan and drag the pan (and him) outside where his evil villain “Sir Meow” will most likely eat him. I felt like the bad guy in this story, but I guess even Batman must one day meet his match. Regardless, I couldn’t find him so I waited for him to make his next appearance.

…And So Does Robin – The following night we had a blackout. And Batman came back. This time he had the strategic advantage as my candle was clearly not scaring him away. He is used to the dark and I am not. Moreover, like we all know from the comic books and movies, Batman likes to roll with his trusted sidekick; Robin, it turns out that the Robin in this story is a bat too. The two of them were having a field day over my head. Flying around the whole hostel and having a grand old bat party over me. It was annoying me but I figured they wouldn’t do me harm. That was until one of them started doing flyby’s that were uncomfortably close to me and eventually even grabbed at my hair. I had had it, but knew I couldn’t do much in those circumstances, so I went into my room where I was stuffed up for 3 hours with my candle until I finally just went to sleep. The next morning, having regained advantage from the sunlight (although still without electricity which would have helped), I again went on a manhunt, I again could hear the bats, but I again could not find them. I narrowed it down to one room I was pretty sure they were in, but an extensive search revealed nothing. I called a local friend of mine over and explained to him what was happening. After I showed him the room I thought they were in, he immediately walked over the window and looked above the window pane, “here they are” he said. Literally, in less than 10 seconds. Turns out, Batman and Robin had a family. In all, we found 5 bats living in the room next to mine. We followed proper protocol and indeed witnessed the part of “The Circle of Life” that is not covered in the Disney song.

Futbol! – Last week, I was recruited by some local boys, who I ran into every day in my walks back from dinner, to play in their regional soccer team. I gladly accepted and saw it both as a fun opportunity and a way to make more local friends. They practice 7 days a week from 5 to 7 pm. My first day of practice I received a hero’s welcome. The 14-person team cheered, applauded, and went absolutely wild at my presence. First, they couldn’t believe that a mzungu would be playing with them. And second, they couldn’t believe the ball I had brought with me. A real soccer ball. They tend to play with cloth balls here that they make by wrapping several shirts together. They had never seen a “real soccer ball” before, only on TV during important matches. Their “stadium” (as they call it) is a big open spot of dirt and rocks right next to my hostel, which is very convenient for me. I was impressed to see that they have a “coach” (who’s 19) and that they obey him carefully. They begin practices with sprints up and down the field, stretches, and other warm up methods. Finally it was time for the two-hour daily scrimmage. Looking out at the players before my first practice I thought I was set, perhaps even that I’d be the rockstar of the team. The players range in age from 8 to 17 (with half of them being 10 or under) and I thought I could take them on pretty comfortably. Boy was I wrong. They destroyed me in every way possible. They were faster than me, by over a 2 to 1 ratio. They were better than me. And they outlasted me. Within 30 minutes I was huffing and puffing; exhausted from the intense game. I couldn’t keep the ball for longer than 5 seconds before a little 8 year old would come swoop it away from me like it was candy from a baby. I had to leave my first practice early, and hobbled home with my head down.  

Third Time’s the Charm – I decided that evening that soccer was too much fun for me to quit, rather, I had to try harder. The coach reinforced that decision calling me the next day to make sure I would come back and not quit; “The team likes you. You are our first mzungu ever, we want you to play with us”. So, there I was at the second practice, determined to do better. Coach offered to take me out four times during the game, saying I looked exhausted, and offering to give me time to rest but I politely refused. I wanted to stay and prove to myself (and to them) that I could play with this group of kids. I played the full two hours at that practice, while I was still pretty bad, I was a bit prouder of myself. The third practice I was back at it. Before that practice, the coach wanted me to bond with my new teammates before the first game of the season next week, so he took us on a two-hour hike to the top of a local hill which has a beautiful view of Shirati. It was a great chance to chat and learn more about them, but it was also exhausting to do, especially in the early afternoon when the sun was still in full force (we had to be back in time for practice). When we got back, coach offered for me not to play since I already looked tired. I stuck with it though and played the full two hours again. Several times during the scrimmage my teammates called my name and pointed down. I couldn’t figure out what they wanted but assumed I was doing something wrong. At the end of the match, I finally realized that they had been pointing at my knee, which was scraped in a fall I took and had been bleeding down to my shoe. I didn’t feel it that much until I saw it. After practice, the team rounded up and applauded me. Standing in a circle around me, the captain of the team said “Fernando, you might not be one of our best players, but you’ve got heart and you keep trying and trying. Welcome to the team”. I never thought that being officially accepted into a group of young kids would be such hard work or feel like such an accomplishment, but it was and it did. As soon as the team was done with their little welcome of me, the coach stepped in. “You still have a lot to work on. Stay after practice, you’re doing sprints”. Awesome.  

Breast Cancer – An elderly patient came into the Roche Health Clinic this week complaining of severe pain in her left breast over the past 7 years. From the smell of it (with her clothes still on) and the incredible swelling of her left arm (which was about 3 times the size of her right one and the patient claims has been this was for 6 years) the doctor immediately knew this was a case of severe breast cancer. The doctor warned me to have a strong stomach if I planned on looking. What we saw was truly in need of a strong stomach. The poor woman no longer had a breast, it had flattened along with the rest of her chest and the whole left side of her body had hardened and decayed. A huge dry wound-like structure was the only thing that remained of her nipple. Its incredible that she’s still alive, but I’m told that in older patients the cancer spreads much more slowly allowing for something like this to happen. Nonetheless, the cancer had spread beyond a cure; all we could do was give her a bottle of Tylenol for the pain and wish her the best.  

The Americans are coming, the Americans are coming! – After 15 days of isolation, I finally have company! And more is on the way. Four students from California who are pre-med and pre-nursing students have arrived in Shirati and are now keeping me company! After living with very limited means (aka no water or electricity), with very limited contact with the outside world and in such a different culture where I’m always being stared at and the center of attention when I step outside, it feels great to have others here to keep me company, share in the experience, go out to the local pub with and help when needed. And this is just the appetizer. While this group will be staying until late-June, this week we will be receiving nearly 25 college students and professors participating in the biannual Village Life brigade. Now THAT will spice things up here. Can’t wait to welcome them to my home for over 3 weeks now.