Week 4

A Heat Fan in Shirati – Perhaps the toughest part of my worldly isolation thus far has been missing out on the Miami Heat action going on back in the States. My dad has been kind enough to wait until midnight eastern after every game (7 am local time, when I get up every morning) to call me with a full update. I was inside American Airlines Arena when the Heat beat the Mavericks in the 2006 NBA Finals. Sadly, I was sleeping in Shirati when they played the Mavericks in Game 6 of the 2011 NBA Finals and didn’t watch a single play. Hearing the outcome of Game 6 though, I’m kind of happy I missed out. Would’ve just had my heart broken. Nonetheless, I can claim the title of being the only fan of the Eastern Conference Champions in Shirati. #representing #LetsgoHEAT #2012

Wazungo – I am no longer THE mzungu. Now that I have been joined by a total of 30 of my new closest friends, WE are the wazungo (plural form of mzungu). It started last week with the arrival of the 4 other Americans who are here until late-June. I no longer have to walk 2-miles three times a day for my meals. We now have a cook that makes meals and serves them to us on our table! I no longer have to do my own laundry in the shower. We now have a laundry lady who comes in 3 times a week to wash our things. And I no longer have to sweep and clean the hostel as we now have a housekeeper 6 times a week. Life has changed and it has changed drastically. The other Americans here will most likely not know the hardships I faced. But I’m grateful that I went through them. I signed up for this experience knowing full well what I was getting myself into, and I have to say, 4 weeks in, its already been one of the most impactful and meaningful experiences of my life and I would want it to have happened in no other way. By having that alone time and by having to fend for myself and walk all over town constantly, alone, I made several local friends. I was recruited for a local soccer team. And I am known to the local kids and members of the community. As much as many others have intentions to integrate with the community as well, due to no fault of their own, it will be much tougher to make happen walking around as a group of wazungo then it was as a single, pity-inducing mzungu. Over the course of the 10 days that the Village Life June Brigade is in town (this past Thursday until next Sunday) we are truly a big pack. Food is served in a temporary outdoor cafeteria next to the hostel and a generator has been set up to give us power even when the city is dark. Life is good and I’m very glad they’re here, but things are very different from the Shirati cultural experience I’ve had the past several weeks.   

The Complicated Case: An Update – Remember last week when I told you about the mentally challenged boy who broke into the doctor’s house as we played Scrabble inside? Well, this week he broke into her house again. Twice actually. On Tuesday he was found under her couch in the living room where he was hiding waiting to make his escape with 100 U.S. dollars he took from her room. She caught him, took back the money, and drove him to his home so she could have a talk with his mother. Unfortunately, his mother wasn’t around and no one knew when she’d be back. She again gave him a stern talking to and let him go. Thursday, as she played Scrabble, she glanced up and saw him tip-toeing through her living room. She again stopped him. This time fed up, she decided that she could not continue to live in fear of this boy constantly breaking into her house. She turned him over to the Police. There were some complaints from the community who was upset that she’d turn him in. I saw both sides of it; what was she to do? Should she live in constant fear? 3 break-ins in a week’s time from the same person warrants a more permanent solution. At the same time, I feel bad for the boy. I don’t know the right answer to this one. What can and should we do about this situation? Not just this boy, but others like him in a society without health care for the mentally ill? Its certainly a very delicate and difficult situation.  

Door-to-Door – I began door-to-door surveying last week and its been a lot of fun. Going to each of the huts in the village has been an incredible anthropological opportunity as I’ve met dozens of great folks and seen a very in-depth and interesting perspective on how they live. Each hut is very uniquely designed in their interior. Some have posters of “Great World Leaders” which usually means a huge portrait of Barack Obama with a few other portraits about a quarter of its size around him. Some just have huge portraits of Obama with no other explanation or reasoning displayed. Others have posters that are religious, usually involving portraits of Jesus. And still others have quasi-pornographic posters of half-naked western women as the first thing you see when you walk into the hut. Seeing those posters at times has been odd because most of these huts have whole families (including wives and small children) living in them. Its also been odd to me at times when there’s a mix of posters, particularly ones of the half nude variety next to Jesus posters.

Six Eggs, Corn and Anchovies – The villagers have been instructed to not give me food or water when I come by to do my door-to-door surveying. This is a Village Life policy as people have gotten sick in the past. One thing about Tanzanians however, especially the Luo tribe, is that they are incredibly friendly and welcoming of guests. Really, they’re super friendly and welcoming. And so, many have told me that they feel bad about having me as a guest at their house and not feeding me. To some, the solution is preparing food and putting it in front of me hoping that I’ll change my mind. While I certainly appreciate their efforts and hospitality, I haven’t been swayed yet. Others, have taken to trying to circumvent the “no food” rule with a bit of an exception to the policy. They have given me food to be cooked back at the hostel. While I’ve tried to decline these incredibly friendly and generous offers, I’ve been told several times by my translator that its rude not to accept them. And so, in the past week, I’ve gathered six eggs given to me by 2 different families in Roche, corn given by a family in Nyambogo and another small bag of anchovies given by a family in Burere. I have more than enough food of my own, so I’ve regifted these gifts to those who I think need them more than I. It’s still been very touching to see these people who have so little, give so much of what they do have to a stranger as a welcoming gesture.    

Flattened Futbol – One day I had arrived a bit late from the village where I was working and was getting ready to go to soccer practice (which had already started) when I heard my name being called outside. I looked out the window and found 4 of the boys from my team calling me. I went outside, impressed that they’d hold up practice for me, when I realized that they hadn’t. They had started it, and during the scrimmage the ball had hit a rose bush (which surround our “stadium”) and went flat. I walked over to the field with the boys and found the entire team sitting under a tree waiting to hear what solution I had. Unfortunately, I sat there waiting for their solution. So basically we just sat there starring at each other in silence for a while, all clearly depressed. I suggested we put some tape on the ball and pump it, which they liked, but then I realized I didn’t have any tape. Eventually, one of the boys said we could take it to the ball maker who also fixes holes in balls such as this. I asked why this solution hadn’t been brought up earlier and they said that its too expensive and unrealistic. I asked the price and was informed he charged 60 U.S. cents to fix balls. “We might as well make a new cloth ball tonight” he said after telling me the price. I didn’t want to come off rude or insensitive to their condition, so I made it sound like it’d be a struggle for me to get the money, but that I could get it by that evening so that the ball could be fixed the next morning. They were incredibly thankful and grateful. Its hard to imagine that 60 cents here is seen as a solution that is not even worthy of being mentioned as its too unrealistic to acquire. The ball has been fixed and we have resumed our soccer practices with the “World Cup ball”.

My First Match – As part of the deal for me joining the team in the beginning of their soccer season here in Shirati (which pretty much goes year-round, but allowed me to join as a new member of the team) I made it clear that I did not want to play in games. This was more for their sake then mine. I know I’m the worst member of the team and I don’t want them to feel pressured to put me in because they feel bad and want to be welcoming of their guest (which they very much are). Meanwhile, on my end, the American doctor in town told me that matches here get very rough and that she sees tons of physical injuries at the hospital coming from these matches. Especially because I am not used to the kind of physical (even violent at times) soccer that they play here, she strongly recommended that I did not play outside of scrimmages and practice time. Well, we had our first match of the season this past weekend against the neighboring village of Obuere. Because of two illnesses and one player having his parents make him heard their cows that afternoon, we ended up being down a player. I kept trying to decline and not play, but they were persistent and I didn’t want to be responsible for my team having to forfeit. So, I played. And outside of some minor scrapes and cuts (and a bit more blood dripping down both of my legs) I was ok. In fact, I play offense, and while I didn’t score a goal, I did have an assist! Not bad compared to where I was a week ago. I’ve certainly gained confidence, gained some endurance and become a better player over the past week. Our daily practices seven days a week are paying off.

The Universal Language – With just 1-minute remaining in the match I talked about above, my team was actually down by a goal; 3-2. One of our players kicked the ball to the goal and the goalkeeper was able to bat it away. The ball was batted straight at another one of our players who then kicked it up to the goal. The goalkeeper was still on the floor from having bat out the previous ball and only one defender stood at the goal. The ball was kicked high and the defender’s reaction was to bat it away with his hands, just like the goalkeeper had. He batted it, but the ball still went into the goal. The referee gave the player a red card (correct) but instead of calling it a goal, he called it a penalty kick (incorrect, you always give the advantage to the team that was harmed by the infraction, in this case the ball still went into the goal, so it should have been a red card and goal). My team went absolutely nuts arguing this point. They threw the ball down the field, yelled at the ref’s face and refused to take the pk for a solid 10 minutes as they argued with him, causing 3 red cards to be thrown in our direction. I, of course, stayed out of it and watched it all in fascination. They were yelling and screaming in Swahili, which I do not know. I found, however, that while I did not know what they were saying; I knew exactly what they were saying. It was a surreal experience and a remarkable realization of the power of soccer in uniting humanity. In case you’re wondering, the pk was good and the game ended immediately afterward in a 3-3 tie, so no harm from us having just 8-players on the field at that point.  

The Joy of Coca-Cola (and Sambosas) – After 4 weeks, I had started to really miss western food and such. Recently, some of the Americans staying at the hostel with me and I decided to go to town and try to find something that resembled home for us to enjoy. After asking around for local foods, we finally found something we could all love…Coca-Cola. Really, I hadn’t realized how much happiness a 30-cent glass bottle of Coke with real sugar can bring to a group of isolated Americans. It’s a big pick me up and a great taste of home (but even better because of the real sugar). Not wanting to disrespect what merits respecting, the Fanta isn’t far behind. All three local Fanta flavors (Orange, Grape and Pineapple) are delicious and I’m particularly partial to the pineapple here which tastes just like a starburst or some other candy like it. To go along with our Cokes, et al. we’ve discovered sambosas. Sambosas are the African version of Samosas and are equally delicious. I’m a huge samosa fan and at this point would be a huge fan of anything fried, possibly even the fried stick of butter that rumor has is available at the Arkansas State Fair. There is nothing better than our new daily ritual of having a Coke and Sambosa after a hard day of work in the scorching African sun. Oh actually, there is something better. The fact that 2 sambosas and a Coke (aka our daily ritual) goes for a combined total of 55 cents. And the fact that when I finish this daily delight, I head over to soccer practice. Life is good in Shirati.  

Making Photocopies – I had to make 100 photocopies of my 11-page survey last week before I could start working. I’ll admit that 1,100 copies is a lot. However, back in the States, If I needed to, I could have made that happen at my school with relatively little effort. So it did not cross my mind that this was something I should be concerned about here. Well, it should have. Making copies is an interesting process that requires one to go downtown to one of two “photocopy shops”. These shops are more formal places that kind of look like an office in the inside. An attendant will ask you what you need done. I explained my needs and was told that I could leave my document and phone number with them and that they’d call me when it was ready to be picked up. I asked for an estimate on time and was told “about 3 days. Assuming we don’t lose power.” Well I had gone to do this the day before I was scheduled to start surveying and thought I was going with plenty of time to spare. I explained my situation and luckily had a very friendly attendant who made it all work out for me in a day and a half (I left late for the village). It was an important lesson for me on being better prepared for things (no matter how small they seem) in a different cultural environment.  

The Dressmaker – With the group of Americans currently in town, the village dressmaker stopped by to pay us a visit and offer us her services. She brought a gigantic plastic bag filled with different styles of cloth for people to choose from. She also brought several pre-made dresses so that people could see different styles. And she brought her measuring gear to measure people and start working on the attire they order. I was the only one to not order anything from my hostel, but it was fun to observe. There are some really cool cloth options that she brought out, and the cost is very reasonable; On a shirt: $4 for the cloth, $8 for her work; on a dress: $8 for the cloth, $12 for her work. If I thought I would ever actually wear an African-style garment back in the States (or thought my parents would) I would’ve very much purchased something. But it was still cool to observe the process of acquiring a new dress or shirt for someone in Shirati.   

The Importance of Feedback – Back to the door-to-door surveying. I just wanted to quickly stress how important the done I did prior to the surveying ended up being to the success of the survey itself. I spent two weeks going through different ideas, suggestions and plans with the Village Committees before I put the survey together. Once the survey was developed, I spent a week working with them on making sure that they knew each and every question in the 11-page survey and had the chance to give their feedback as well as make suggestions on things I may have missed. The committees laughed at me for being so careful and running so much by them before I started. “You’re the expert” they kept telling me. “No, you guys are the expert. I’m a student of yours” is what I kept saying back. And I turned out to be right. Some huge things that came up and really made a difference in this survey working out included the fact that I had almost completely disregarded polygamy in the original draft of the survey (over 50% of my surveys so far have had cases of polygamy), the fact that once I did take polygamy into account I only allowed for up to 5 wives to be filled in and that I should allow for more (the first survey I conducted was in a house that had 11 wives), and the fact that changing source water from filters might be an issue I should ask people about (its turned out to be by far the main issue water filters are encountering here). In short, the process of getting feedback from community leaders on how/what I should be getting feedback on from the community is a hugely important and was a hugely successful project. All who are interested in public service should take note of this important accurate lesson that the Clinton School taught me.

Miracle Maker –  In one of my visits to Nyambogo Primary School (to see how their water filter was doing) I was swarmed in typical fashion by pretty much every student at the school who wanted to see, touch and yell at a mzungu. Putting their creativity to work, this group decided to point at me and scream “mzungu!” repeatedly and loudly. Going through my now usual routine of introducing myself and shaking hands with them, I left the group and pulled out my camera to take pictures of the beautiful scenery. Well this made the kids go wild and ask for me to take pictures of them. I did, first of a small group, then a bigger one and finally a huge one with almost every student wanting to get in on the action. After the pictures were taken I showed them how it came out on my digital camera. They were flabbergasted that I could immediately show them a picture. Hundreds of students lined up, screamed, pushed and even bit those in front of them to get closer to me quicker so they could see this magical event for themselves. My translator explained to me afterwards that the consensus amongst the young kids ended up being that “this mzungu is a miracle maker”.