flies

Friends, I need prayer. I ask you to stand with me in faith, believing that I might walk out in power to stop sinning against the Lord's law of love in my hatred of flies.

I really think that would be a good next thing to get over. I've conquered my dislike of beans, cooked bananas, peanuts, edible fish bones, mosquito nets and squat toilets but I haven't yet managed to not despise the feeling of little fly legs crawling over my skin. It's maddening.

I'm not gonna say that sometimes I question my salvation, but... (just sayin'...) I AM unsettled by the degree of anger and hostility that is able to take residence in me in the presence of two miniscule insects flying around my room, intermittantly having the audacity to land on my face. We think we're so far away from those crazy, hateful people that do atrocities in the world, kill, rape or enslave...but it's all the same root. "The intention of man's heart is evil from his youth" (Genesis 8:21)

it's not style…

My church family shows a LOT of concern about how I dress. And I'm not talking about modesty. I'm talking about matching. 

One Sunday morning I emerged from my room to go over into the sanctuary for prayer before service. I was wearing a dress I recently had made here by a tailor out of a blue/orange/green African kitenge fabric; a bit of the same fabric as a head-wrap; light orange sandals; and a long white skirt over the dress.

As I'm walking down the porch, I see our church secretary standing in the doorway of the church office. The confrontation follows:

(in Swahili)

Me: "You look nice!"

Her: "You too…"

[Silence. I'm about to move on. She steps into the office, still looking at me.]

"Come."

"In the office?"

"Yes, come here."

[We enter. She slowly moves around to sit at the desk, folds her hands, elbows on the desk, and looks seriously at me. After a few moments…]

"Do you not have a white blouse?"

"A white blouse? No."

[Another moment.]

"No white blouse?"

"Nope."

[She keeps looking at me, thinking hard.]

"Is that a shirt?"

"No, it's a dress underneath. But it's too short to wear to church, haha"

[She somewhat half-heartedly laughs.]

"You have a kitenge, then?" [Makes a wrapping motion around her waist to demonstrate]

"Yes, I do."

[She seems at a loss for how to suggest that I go change. Ignoring her blatant insinuations, I make a joke about how her mouse pad has eyeballs on it, and leave.]

(end scene)

THEN, as I'm leaving the office, walking down the side of the church, another lady on her way to the bathroom suddenly stops in her tracks, staring at me.

"Njoo!" [Making the 'come' signal]

I backtrack and greet her, smiling. She grabs my bodice, trying to pull it out of my skirt. 

"Don't scrunch it up…" 

"It's a dress!" I counter. 

"Oh…" She seems disappointed. I turn around and go on my way.

These unanticipated exchanges of the morning, in the simple 50 foot walk between my room and the sanctuary, left me sitting in church before worship started, hiding my face in my hands cracking up at the thought that many women in the congregation might be distracted from worshipping when I go up to the front to join the team, squirming in their seats at their inability to do anything about my outfit, like if my mom's hands were tied behind her back in a room full of crooked pictures on the wall.

Here, the most successful styling is, for example: blue dress and head-wrap, blue earrings, blue shoes, blue necklace, etc etc. You'll buy a certain fabric, and then have an outfit made from head to toe out of the same fabric. This is quite an amusing contrast to New York City, where the hipster style of my generation's heritage is characterized by NOT 'matching,' and innovation and individuality is considered a virtue. It's all about confidence -- if you have that, then you can wear almost anything. I would find satisfaction in taking an unlikely item of clothing and making it cool, or successfully pairing two things that you would never pick; since high school I've been told I have a pretty reputable and unique style. In Zanzibar (tourist/beach town) I could be more gutsy. I'd invent my own techniques of wrapping the kanga. 

Here in the church community I have toned down the experimental element of my style about 97%. Sometimes I'll still wear something 'weird' like this ---> but for the most part I try to keep it simpler and more straightforward.

If I do branch out, I have to be prepared for backlash. The other day I was leaving the house to go into town, and I passed the roadside stand of a guy from church. I was wearing a knee-length black cotton dress with a thin red flannel button-up shirt, ends tied at the waist and sleeves rolled-up. He waves at me so I go over to greet him:

Him: "What have you done to your shirt?"

Me: "It's a style."

Him: "It's not style. It's doesn't look good."

Me: "You're just not used to it. Many people do this."

Him: "Many people do it?

Me: "Yep. Just not here I guess..."

All of this started a long time ago. When I first got here, Mama would excitedly buy me earrings and shoes to match outfits she liked on me. At church I would be critiqued by random congregants for little things: "You should really find some other earrings to match that dress…" But on the other hand, if I succeeded, people would be sooo excited: "Wow, you really know how to match!" (yes. real quote.)

The first time I met my dear host dad, Pastor Eric, I got woken up at 6:30am a few days before Christmas--"get up and get ready! Baba got back last night! We're going out to breakfast right now!" 'Right now' could mean literally anything, so I threw on a dress and went outside. After meeting him, introductions etc, I went back inside for a bit, came back out, and he was standing outside -- he looked me up and down and said, skeptically, "So…are you already ready to go?" "Yep!" "Ok…" After he went around the corner, Mama pulls me to her and whispers, "He meant that you should change your shoes, I saw the way he looked at your feet…Go put on those red shoes you have!"

Despite it all, I'm in fact thankful for how it's thickened my skin. And it's not just this that contributed to it -- it's living in a culture and a family where, whether it's language, manners, communication or food, I'm so far from 'knowing everything' or even being able to pretend that I kind of know what I'm doing. I'm so much more okay with conflict, with making a fool of myself, with admitting that I don't know something, with failing, failing again, and then failing again. It's humbling to be, in some sense, treated like a child again. But, especially with my host parents, there's so much love in it, and ultimately I love them for their brutal honesty -- "The Lord disciplines the one he loves, and chastises every son whom he receives…For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness for those who have been trained by it." [Hebrews 12:6,11] Offense is a lot more momentary now; I'm settled in a place of releasing of my 'status' or 'reputation.' It's much better to choose not to be insulted and let the moment wash past you into oblivion, forgetfulness, or amusing blog anecdotes.

Another week, we were going to a funeral and I wasn't sure what to wear. To get an idea, I looked outside at the other people milling around waiting for our bus ride, did my best to get dressed in a similar fashion but mentally prepared for the critique I knew I'd get. Sure enough, I saw Pastor Eric for the first time that morning: 

"You should probably go ahead and get ready." 

"Right…" [Obviously my efforts had failed. I completely surrendered.] "So...what should I wear?"

"Well, of course you'll wear another nicer blouse, and a kanga."
"Right, of course."

MASSIVE UPDATE TIME Pt. 2: a new year [January]

Although I still hadn't started teaching yet, January consisted of….a lot!

The school had a big celebration for their 10th anniversary. As the one in possession of a camera, I was designated the official photographer for all of the festivities. Two days we cleaned (CLEANED!) the neighborhood up and down, from cutting down brush and hoeing up rocks and weeds to picking up fossilized trash buried in mud in the middle of the road. A lot of gross and hard work, but it was a blessing to the community as well!

Also in honor of the anniversary, one day we went to a nearby orphanage to bring them a bunch of supplies. I was super excited because this was the first time I had been able to go to an actual orphanage…as I expected, as soon as I got there I never wanted to leave…I could see myself giving up anything to stay and love them, they were so precious and in need of love…

this baby was found abandoned at a bus station when he was 2 months old.

It was over WAY too quickly… But several of the orphans who go to the school came along on the trip, so at least I got to still be with them as I was torn away from the others!

After meeting up with my parents and my brother Alex in Ethiopia to meet our new adopted brothers, Zerihun and Melaku (will write about that later!), Alex flew back to Tanzania with me to visit for a couple weeks. First time to see my family (or anyone from home) in 4 months!

The first day he was here was my 22nd birthday (and my "golden birthday"? never really understood the importance of that…someone clue me in…) -- probably the most uneventful birthday ever :) Except for skyping with my boyfriend James and my friend Edwin surprisingly giving me two gift-wrapped Kit Kat bars at worship practice! Super sweet. Although the next month, though, my fam had a big belated 'birthday dinner' for me, with fabulous food, and invited people over…really nice of them!

I took him to the school (which had just opened, although I wasn't teaching yet) a few times to play with the kids. Of course a new mzungu creates quite a stir. We sat in the baby class during their snack time, taught the 4th graders how to play Heads Up Seven Up, and Douglas taught him Swahili vocab, quizzing him on it periodically throughout the day.

One day we took a 3 hour bus ride (make that 5.5 hours if we include the 2 1/2 hours sitting on the side of the road with a flat tire…) out to a town called Babati to visit the child the our family sponsors with Compassion International. His name is Alex (originally Juma, but changed to Alex when he was baptized in honor of my brother Alex, whose birthday is one day away from his!). I loved meeting them and wished we stayed longer… just knowing Swahili and their culture well enough to immediately connect with them was so cool. I relish destroying their expectations of what Americans are going to be like :)

We each planted an avocado tree that they had bought in our honor…that was a first!

We also spent a couple mornings clearing out one of the overgrown yards up at the orphan house. Well, the first time was a fail because Alex's started like fainting all over the place from heatstroke…so he'd be laying face-down on the other side of the yard groaning and I yelled, "Tired?" and he's like "Uhhhh…I felt dizzy…I think I'm gonna throw up…I'm seeing black spots…" And I throw my rake down, "Alex! We're going home now! We're gonna go check if you have malaria!" And he's like "No Lindsay! No!! I'm FINE!" He tries to get up and pick up his hoe and go back into the scorching sun, so I steal his hoe with much protest and he begs me with much sweet-talk to give back the hoe like it's his bag of crack.

I'm like, "How long have you been feeling sick?" 

"Oh, just like 5 days…since I got here…" 

"FIVE DAYS???!? Why didn't you tell me!!!?" 

"It wasn't that bad!"

"I'm not giving you the hoe!!!"

I thought I kind of understood boys after all these years with them… but I don't understand Alex.

see the determination...

The second time was better and we got a lot done. Mostly with the help of whistle-while-you-work Seven Dwarfs-type songs we'd make up, like:

I've been workin' in the garden

All the live-long day

I've been workin' here with Alex

Just to get these weeds away

Don't you feel the sun a-beatin'

Making your face so red?

Don't you wish that you had slept in?

You'd still be in your bed 

And then Alex would chant some Army Ranger running hoo-ah type song that I'd have to echo… 

A-! (Army!) 

R-! (Ranger!) 

M-! (Men!) 

Y-! (Yankee Doodle!) 

R-! (uh…Ranger!) 

A-! (…Army?) 

N-! (Never Give Up!) 

G-! (…Give Up!) 

etc etc

Halfway through, I actually got a call from the orphanage administrator saying the neighbors called him complaining about the noise…oops.

One day before he left we went to a nearby conservation forest to hike and go boating. Super peaceful and relaxing and informative, except for the part where they failed to clarify me that the boats cost 10 times more than I heard their broken English say. ($17 and $70 sound dangerously similar in Swahi-nglish)

Other January highlights: 

- Going on an hour-long epic quest with Miriam at dusk to find four escaped chickens, carrying one under each arm on the way back (read: I'm carrying TWO perturbed winged animal at the same time, trying with no free hands to balance on a rickety pile of roofing beams and wooden planks in negligible lighting). I've never physically touched a chicken, so hugging one was a new experience. 

- Started leading worship in Swahili in church every once in a while! They always want to give me the English songs to lead, but that usually ends up with the congregation miraculously losing the ability to sing and just staring at me, so I told them the English songs are more accessible if one of their own countrymen sing it themselves! Want to see?

for other pictures, you can go to my most recent Facebook photo album: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2803358&id=838965&l=47d7c6840c
and other pictures with my brother Alex: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2790420&id=838965&l=6287b5d9d3

blessing

(trying out this blog-update-through-email thing...hopefully it works, would be nice to do from my phone when I'm miles away from a computer connection!)

Why are we so bad at recognizing how blessed we are? Even if we simply realized every moment how things that used to plague us don't plague us anymore, we would be freaking out at how great life is! From little to big…every moment there is something to rejoice over.

The other morning I woke up and was sitting under my mosquito net praying, and I remembered how it used to be in the last house we stayed in--every night, a dozen mosquitoes would be resting on the outside of my net. Sometimes it sounded like there was a small plane in my bathroom from all them buzzing around in there; I couldn't open my closet door without 3 flying out as they rested in the warmth; the time it took to dress in the morning was doubled because half my time was spent battling them. Now I see one maybe once a week…how great is that?!?

But I totally forgot.

Remember having an earache, a headache, nausea, congestion where you can't breathe out of your nose -- constantly distracting and you can't wait until it goes away. Then the first moment you realize it's not there anymore, you're so joyful! But of course we'll forget again what a blessing it is to breathe freely, eat freely. I mechanically put my contacts on in the morning, forgetting what a miracle it is that I can see.

The night before that I wasn't feeling too hot -- back pain, finger injury and toothache. But then I thought about it -- a small section of my back, one knuckle, and a centimeter of my mouth -- what is that, 99.9% of every part and function of my body inside and outside?? Talk about glass-half-empty…that's a freakin' overflowing goblet and I'm saying it's undrinkable, laying on the ground in (relative) pain feeling sorry for myself.

I wish I could look at actual statistics for these, but unfortunately I'm not in the Land of Perpetual Internet
But looking at basics only:

I was born -- in America alone, 4,000 lives per day aren't given this chance
I have my freedom -- millions are slaves
I have parents -- millions don't [Not to mention parents that love me]
I have food -- millions don't [Not to mention as much food as I want]
I have water -- millions don't
I have a home -- millions don't
I have an education -- millions of children yearn for the chance
I can see [Not to mention the resources to fix it if something's wrong]
I can hear
I can walk

If you're discontent--*who are you comparing yourself to?*

What do you think about to fight your own selfishness?

chip in!

If you've been keeping up with my story and are interested in contributing to support my ministry here, now you have a chance :) Since September I have just been living off my savings, but at the beginning of the year I had to start paying back my school loans, and I just bought my ticket home, so that's put a strain on my finances. Living expenses are so small here that literally ANY amount is a huge blessing! I spend only an average of $30 week on food, bus fares, internet, cell phone and offerings to the church. When I leave at the end of April, I'd also really really like to be able to bless the church and the school and my family with as large a gift as I can manage, but right now I wouldn't be able to manage much! As this is just a one-time need, I don't have a tax-deductible organization to go through, but you can give through ChipIn through this:



The goal amount that's set on it just represents what I've spent just living here, but again, any amount of contributions are super helpful :)

love and blessings to you all, more posts coming very soon....

MASSIVE UPDATE TIME pt. 1: holiday season [December]

ok, I've put it off long enough…time to jump back in...!

School let out for the holiday at the beginning of December, so I didn't have a whole lot to do for more than a month…this meant lots of family time :) Pastor Eric got back from the U.S. a few days before Christmas, so everyone was reunited again. Here's my Tanzanian fam, eating out on Christmas Day -- basically the same format as my fam at home, except that trevor is switched out for a feisty girl. [left to right] Abraham (20), me Samuel (15), Mama, Pastor Eric, Miriam (19).

Our Christmas lunch consisted of 3 heaping platters of grilled meat (goat, cow and chicken), french fries ("chipsi") and soda! Pretty fantastic.

The church decked out for the holiday!

As people from home asked what they could send me for Christmas, it was hard to think of gifts I wanted or things from America that I can't get here. On a daily basis, it's not the most helpful attitude to always be thinking of the stuff you don't have or wish you have -- I have to wrench my head into a different mindset from the way I usually operate! I'm pretty sure the media and the people around us have the most to do with our conceptions of whatever we think we need or want -- if you don't have the media telling you what you need to be cool, or other people around you with cool stuff that you can covet, what else do you need than your daily necessities? Here I have WAY more than anyone else -- I don't look at anyone else and wish that I had what they have or that I could live like they live (ok…except for maybe cool African fabrics and tailored dresses…my fav! [right! -->])

I realized the things I now wish for are so different…the extinction of flies, "unlimited nights and weekends" (oh America!), water fountains…some silence to record music, my brothers to sing with, the hug of a best friend…patience, humility, selflessness, to really look like Jesus… Nothing that fits in a USPS Priority Mail Small Flat Rate Box.

It was actually a very difficult time for me. Compared to the faithful traditions and worship-like Christmas frenzy of America, the level of celebration here is almost indiscernible -- everyone decorated the church that week, and the family went out for lunch together, but mostly there was nothing to distinguish Christmas and Christmas Eve from any other day! Since in my mind the holidays are inextricable from family, Christmas Eve alone in my room was really hard to get over, and I was definitely way more self-pitying than I should have been! I was reminded that Jesus spent the first Christmas ever in a dark and dirty stable, not curled up by a fire sipping hot chocolate. Thankfully my room smells slightly better than that, and our electricity didn't even cut off that night. During that time, people brought gifts to Him, not expecting to receive any. He was our gift. He's always been more than enough. That was never more real to me than that evening, remembering the night He was born, on my bed with only Him and my tears, and listening to "I Celebrate The Day" by Relient K about 15 times…"I celebrate the day that you were born to die, so I could one day pray for you to save my life."

New Year's Eve, on the other hand, was insane. We had mkesha, an all-night church service/prayer/music & worship event. The worship team played [see above], all the choirs performed songs, individuals sang, etc. I got my earplugs out for the 6-hour service because Tanzanians like their music LOUD and I'm not a fan of hearing loss. Mostly Miriam and I and our other youthful friends entertained ourselves by making up ridiculous dances…by 11:30 the craziness had set in and we ended up outside to have more freedom for our dancing impulses.

At midnight (to my great astonishment) everyone started screaming and running back and forth in the church to find every single person they know to say Hongera ya mwaka mpya ("Congratulations for the New Year") leaping on each other, laughing -- I was literally physically injured by half a dozen people who either bowled me over while running by or 'congratulated' me a little too energetically. I seem to specifically remember an elbow to the face at one point… The following video doesn't come close to capturing the explosion of old people sprinting around, but you can get the idea. We kept this up for about a quarter of an hour before they turned on music and everyone that was left started dancing! 

Being someone in thorough possession of the "Physical Touch" Love Language, dozens and dozens of people running to hug me was actually very moving, especially after the last week of feeling so lonely; there were definitely some tears threatening to escape. I realized how fantastic and loving all these people are and was so blessed at how they've accepted me into their family!

New Year's Day we had a bunch of people over for a small feast. Mama made me pray (in Swahili) for the food and actually I was pretty impressed with myself, for once it didn't end with the typical mortification I feel at the prayer's conclusion. Too bad it wasn't videoed…

me & Mama, dressed up on New Year's Day, in front of our house!

merry christmas

merry Christmas from Mama E!


we spent December 23rd decorating the church and this baby Christmas tree with balloons :)

i find it ironic...walking by a shop playing "White Christmas"...

my life has been really random lately, so this is going to be pretty random as well...

school closed for the year last week (academic calendar runs January - December), so until mid-January I won't be teaching anymore. I already miss the kids! They make my life much more colorful...

I was the designated photographer for the closing ceremony and prize-giving as students who performed well were presented with pencils, notebooks and packs of laundry detergent.

It has started to rain (read: mild torrential downpour) every afternoon here. By 'afternoon', I literally mean after-noon -- once it hits 12:00 pm (or the 6th hour, in Swahili time) the thunder rumblings start to make their presence known. Gutters turn into rushing rivers, you see ducks swimming in the road (no lie) and crowds of people hide out under every storefront, pressing against the walls as the water rises ominously higher and higher towards our toes… 

Pros: because the running water hasn't been working for 2.5 weeks, this means we can put our buckets outside and get fresh water, woohoo! 

Cons: oceans of midnight black mud that makes my feet look African.

Been hanging out with the youth a lot…they're way mad gangster.

Desi, me, Miriam

Miriam & Sam (my African siblings, Mama E's 2 youngest kids). This is nothing, you should see them at night when she's got her do-rag on blasting gospel music or when Sam is rapping while washing the dishes, switching between Swahili and English, wearing a beanie and baggy sweats lookin' like a jewel thief…

Really, how much badder can you get…?

A lot of high schoolers go to boarding school, so there's a lot more of them around right now since school is out. Currently, about half the worship team is actually made up of youth - Samuel is the drummer, Miriam sings and Desi is the keyboard player/co-worship leader. 

I find the presence of a USPS mail box especially ironic…not sure how that got here… (We keep mics and music equipment in it)

We all took a bus out of town on Sunday to visit our friend at his boarding school. They are seriously funny and good-natured people

at a restaurant, this tremendously tasty plate of food + soda can be bought for $1

I'm telling you -- gangster.

Speaking of being hardcore…

African women are impressive in much different ways than American women, such as proficiency with a machete. Mama continually leaves me in a state of wonder, carrying a pot of boiling oil with her bare hands, nonchalantly munching the head off a fish, skeleton and all, or dragging a bag of rice the size of a adolescent cow into the garage. Or when I calmly come into the living room and inform Miriam that in my bathroom there is a palm-sized spider that I'd like to get rid off and without blinking she tells me to pick it up and put it outside. Have you ever read Proverbs 31? Yeah, that's definitely referring to African women -- ones who literally buy fields and make linen garments and work by the light of an oil lamp. Culturally American Proverbs 31 would probably read differently…"She rises while it is yet night to get her sons to their hockey games on time. She puts her hand to the electric stove to cook Thanksgiving dinner for thirty friends and relatives. She writes a best-selling book and her family lives off the royalties for five years," something like that.

"Huwakunjulia maskini mikono yake; Naam, huwanyoshea wahitaji mikono yake…"

"She opens her hand to the poor and reaches out her hand to the needy…"  (Prov. 31:20)

I'm pretty sure Mama Elisikia is the most fantastic African woman on the continent. The church family adores her, they're always bringing her gifts -- just in the last couple weeks, different people have sent her a set of 12 tea-mugs, clothes and a hair-dresser to the house to braid her hair (no small ordeal -- a 14-hour, multi-stage process!) And she is always exceedingly thankful and humbled by it. But as I tell her, this is because she herself is mtoaji, a giver. I've been living at her house for two and a half months now, literally as an adopted daughter! (And she always says I'm a blessing…psh.) 

Last week my parents gave her some money as a gift to say thank you for taking care of me. She was incredibly blessed, and over the weekend we went to the market to buy some things for them for Christmas. But it touched me that the first thing she bought with her gift was some clothes for the girl who helps her clean the house…she was so excited telling me about how much she loves this girl and how gratefully she would react to getting a present…

That day, I was confronted by the most fruit I've ever seen in my life. This was like the Sam's Club of fruit. Otherwise known as Soko Kuu, "Big Market." We bought a bag of mangoes the size of a small child for about $2. I learned many valuable things there, such as that you need to buy unripe fruit a few weeks before Christmas before the prices go up, and that shop keepers offer discounts to you for being beautiful. ("Hahaha Mama, I need to come with you to the market more often…" "Yes! I get-y good price!")

In the market there are these massive carts filled with second-hand clothes that people come and rift through -- think Goodwill bins. Apparently this is a huge blessing; before the government allowed these to exist, it was really hard for people to afford clothes from the stores. Mama said that some people would just walk around with no clothes on at all! But now everyone can afford some sort of clothes. It really is like Goodwill -- shirt for $0.75, blazer for $2…And guess where these clothes come from? Yep, our dear home, America.

I suspected as much, because surprisingly often I see someone wearing an item of clothing that I know one of my brothers used to wear from Target. A lot of times you just know they have no idea what they're wearing -- a referee uniform, nurses gown, a tacky Christmas sweater in October to a church service, a t-shirt that says "Moses Was A Foster Parent" (you mean "child"?)… I love seeing all the "New York papherphanialia -- I always have the urge to yell over to them, "Hey! I <3 NY too!" The cheerleader t-shirts really crack me up, especially because they're usually worn by guys.


i'll leave you with this...

in America, everyone is happy & rich…?

I will continue with my customary opening topic -- insects. Cockroaches that are large enough to have a significant amount of guts are not cool. It makes it a lot less fun to smash them. Not that it was fun in the first place…we're starting at zero fun and this brings it down into the negative. Negative fun. Observing their agility and the way they lift their heads (enabled by super long arms) and smell the air like those little prairie dogs that pop out of holes in the Midwest, I truly begin to feel like they each have a little animal brain and feelings… I can smell his fear as he realizes my presence. As I move in for the kill, stabbing with the longest available object, he swerves and dodges like a quarterback, hiding behind things the same color tone as his glossy hide and becoming increasingly distressed at my persistence. Kind of feels like Jurassic Park. Except I'm the T-rex, not the poor little boy in the car watching the rippling cup of water as the footsteps of the monster approach.

Last week on Friday (sports day) I found my 3rd graders behind the school in gender-typical polar activities: the girls wrapping their sweaters around their heads like crowns, tucking flowers all over it and the boys sword-fighting. After I also donned a sweater crown, the boys called on me to be the referee for their fights. I drew an official battle-circle in the dust and filmed them, disqualifying over-eager combatants for swiping too hard (aka Rama), until  You've already been introduced to this dear child...

accomplishments of the week:

- eating fish bones (yes, they're edible.)

- painting 4 bedrooms in 2 afternoons to the utter awe and astonishment of Mama, who originally painted their entire house in 10 days using a 4-inch wide hand brush, unaware of the existence of paint-rollers

- through painting, days of cleaning and scrubbing walls, and eating a heaping plate of plain white rice with nothing but a tomato garnish, winning the respect of my associates and the designation of 'fully African strong hard-working woman, worthy of an African husband'

- moving to a new house, aka the guest rooms at the church, where running water and electricity are as capricious as a 16-year old girl (capricious n. given to sudden and unaccountable changes of mood or behavior)

- engaging in an afternoon-long city-wide hunt for a pharmacy that carries my malaria meds. Want to know what the Indian pharmacist said at the place I finally found them? "Make sure you drink lots of water when you take this -- we don't want to have a dead person on our hands." Super encouraging. I now apprehensively drink approximately 1 liter of water at dinner on Mondays.

There's kind of a word for boyfriend here, mpenzi, but it's not really specific (means lover) and can be used in different contexts. So because I'm in a Christian community that doesn't believe in dating, most people think I'm like minutes away from getting married. They're all trying to get me to come have my supposed wedding here in Tanzania.

Apart from the Christians, because of my promise ring a lot of other people think I'm engaged or married… Good for me because having a boyfriend doesn't seem to be enough to keep them away. Literally every conversation I have, the 2nd, 3rd or 4th question is whether or not I'm married. I can't imagine the trouble I would have completely single…I'd have to lie my face off. Mama E protects me from the more legitimate ones, aka boys in the church. The other day she's like, 

"Oh my dota! [**note: this is both the way she pronounces it, and the way she spells it in texts**] You know there is sister [**meaning brother**] this day says to me, 'Oh, I am single…Mama, what about this white girl? I see she is different than other white people! She is helping you move, she is strong…' I say--"Ooooh no! This one is-a booked!"

The other ones are usually random people -- bartenders, hotel guards, etc. I end up in conversation with these people because 1) it's fun to have friends at every hotel in the city, 2) I can then sit and use wireless for free, and 3) sometimes I'll get free drinks or cookies. 

The prevailing opinion is that it's a good idea to have both an American and Tanzanian boyfriend. When I disagree, I'm usually accused of not liking black men. It's pretty funny to hear their arguments trying to convince me. One guy's like, "You know, even cars have a spare tire!" Another was super serious trying to convince me, until I showed him the picture of James & I on the background of my computer and he's like, "Ohhhh (disappointed)…I will have hard time…If you change your mind, you come tell me!" Everyone shamelessly wants to marry me so they can come live in America. They just say it outright: "I want to marry you and we will go and live in America." I don't think I can really impress upon you how often this happens. Almost every unmarried man I come in contact with. And at least once a day.

More sobering is the woman who puts her baby into my arms and asks me to bring it back with me to Europe. Her light-hearted earnestness is disarming…expecting me to take him with me at that very moment, her demeanor is identical to the woman down the road who cheerily gave me some free biscuits the other day because I always say hi to her. Is it that simple to give away your child? And how do you counter the nation-wide persuasion that moving to America will solve all your problems...

Walking back from school the other day I was overtaken by a few of my students, one of them Rama, who invited me to come see his house. I followed him just a couple hundred yards away from the church into his home, a small dark room off of a communal courtyard. My heart intensely went out to this sweet, simple boy as he solemnly showed me and explained every object and its purpose in his home--the couch for people to sit on, the cupboard to keep dishes in, a carafe for tea, the bed where he sleeps with his sister, the little plastic chair where he studies and bedside table for school books, a broken computer keyboard he found to play with, old birthday cards. Behind a locked door was the one other room of the house, where his parents and another sister slept. I asked him what he wants to be when he grows up and why, and he said he wants to work at a bank so that he can help his mom and dad. His mom came back from the mosque, so I realized that he was Muslim. She chastised him for not inviting me to sit down and brought me the customary soda. After some introductions, his mom and aunt looked at me seriously, telling me that I would help Rama go to America. I'm not yet experienced in how to respond to these propositions… I told them that he needs to study hard, and they repeated that to him to make sure he heard… "Umemsikia? Lazima usome kwa nguvu…."

Everyone thinks that if they make an American friend, one day that person will buy them a ticket or help them go to America. Everyone thinks that if you're out of work in America, the government will pay you and take good care of you. They ask why in the world I want to live here--when you're out of work, you're on your own. They might make $100 a month…though renting one bedroom is just $15. A teacher at school asked if it's hard to come study in America, and told me how he wants to finish his bachelors degree sometime in the next 3 years. He smiled dreamily at the idea and sighed, saying, "that will be nice." I can see in his wistful, unfocused eyes the fantasy of what it would be like…not fathoming what it means that 80% of international undergraduates in the US pay their own way and that a year of school might cost as much as he makes in 15 years working here.

Though this area is probably what would be considered a slum, but living here myself (and spending a lot of my time in town) I don't think of it like that. Only in certain moments like these do I realize that people really live here, the bed 10 inches away from your knees when you're sitting on the couch, no electricity or running water, opportunity already unavoidably restricted by the country and the home to which you were born. The freedom in which I live seems gratuitous.

school life

My third graders provide me with consistent entertainment. I feel more like a mother than a teacher most of the time, because they fight like only siblings can fight -- you'd think that they've all grown up together stealing each others toys in the bathtub and bickering over who gets the last of the Lucky Charms (or the "spicies" as I and my brothers used to call them -- you know the much-coveted handful of powdery sugary goodness at the bottom of the bag? That turns your milk purply-pink? Anyway…) 

From 11:20am-12:40pm I battle their incessant squabbling. They'll look at me with a concerned and hurt expression, and protest:

"Madam! This one is take pencil!"

"Madam! This one is hit me!"

"Madam! This one is telling me I am bear and I have big head!"

To which I respond (of course): "Tell him your heads are the same size!!"

Certain students, of course, are more tenaciously disruptive than others. As you watch this video, notice the ridiculous child in the lower-right corner with the blue ruler who never seems to have a normal facial expression. This is Rama. Observe also the ruthless shoving, biting and face-to-elbow contact going on between my charming boys as they vie for the camera's view.

Before I remembered anyone's name in the class, I remembered Rama's name, since I ended up yelling it about 35 times during the course of our first class. I think he's physically unable to stay seated facing forward in his own chair. Have you ever seen this video of the sneaky cat? That's who Rama reminds me of, except for the motionlessness part. I can't comprehend how he can get to the other side of the room so quickly, but every time I turn around he's on the floor, at another student's desk, or in some sort of contortion "sitting" at his own.

Last week he was truly in top-form: I hear (for the 57th time) a commotion behind me as I'm writing on the blackboard. I walk over with my feigned stern face to see that Rama is barefoot and one of his socks has magically relocated to his right hand. I try to keep up an authoritarian demeanor and communicate the disgraceful and unacceptable nature of this behavior. Their main teacher, Charles, walks by the window and all the kids yell over to him indignantly, obviously dissatisfied with my disciplinary approach and determined that justice be swiftly carried out -- "Teacha! Teacha! Rama is put sock!" He looks at me as we both try to hold our laughter in (which I'm really not very good at… "Teacha, you are laugh!")

Although they adore me, the kids are of the opinion that I do not provide sufficient retaliation in response to unruly behavior. They usually try to encourage me toward harsher methods, yelling at me to pinch or strike the offender, or smack his hair full of chalk dust with the blackboard eraser. But I am getting better -- I bought a ruler this week…a very good slapping device. I've grown to enjoy improvising discipline methods depending on the situation, as this tends to entertain the rest of the class…drawing Xs on their foreheads with my chalk or whacking Collin with the same shoe that he just threw across the room at Rama. 

As you might have inferred, they're pretty good at self-policing, which is lots better than having an entire insubordinate class. A few kids in each grade are designated as class leaders; it's so funny to see how seriously these 8 and 9 year olds take up their role, acting like little adults. On Tuesday I sat in on their science class after my class was over, as they couldn't stand to see me go and begged and pleaded for me to stay…class leader Deborah was conducting everyone through a science review, in a section marked "Match the following items with their definition":

Deborah: 11. Beans and milk. Rama?

Rama: B. Land animals.

Deborah: Eh!? Land animals?! BEANS and MILK! (shakes head disapprovingly)

Here's Charles, science teacher and fellow devotee/lover of Class 3. He read over part of this blog post, cracking up at my very accurate description of our dear delinquents. Apparently he's the only one that can handle them; the other teachers shy away. Charles uses the "-ee/-y" suffix to an extent that approaches incredulity. It's kind of like a new language. After the 'sock'  incident the other day, he came into class and picked up a piteous-looking ruler from off the floor, held together in two pieces by masking tape: "Why-ee thees-y ruler ees-y lame-y??" 

"Lame"…the meaning, i assume from the context, to be "broken." Just one of many words given a colorful new meaning by my beloved Tanzanians. Such as "squeeze" -- a verb, used in a healthy assortment of situations. Need to move your desk to a spot where someone's foot is currently located? "Squeeze!" Someone in the way of your jump rope's personal space? "You! Squeeze!" Or "tuition" -- a noun I've understood to mean any sort of homework, exercises, sample test questions, as opposed to it's traditional English definition of "a sum of money charged for teaching or instruction." As in, "Teacha! Today you will give to us tuition?"

Tanzanian English-wise, I've also been very entertained while helping the teachers to type up the students' tests for their Annual Examinations. For instance:

Man, the African resistance against colonial occupation would TOTALLY have succeeded if it weren't for those dang blessed foreigners...

Some are just straight-up funny, but I can't tell if it's a joke or not (probably isn't). Like, on a 5th grade Civics exam:

13. The aim of defense and security is to:

            A. torture people until they cry

Certain to trip-up inattentive students from the correct answer, "ensure the safety of people and their property."

Here you can see the fabulous Marantha Mission School -- this wing currently houses the baby classes (ages 3, 4 & 5), 1st through 4th grades, principal's office and staff lounge (my usual haunt in between classes). There's a comparable wing (although the upstairs is un-finished) on the other side of the grounds that holds 5th through 7th grades, school manager's office and another teacher's room.

And here you can see some fabulous school lunch fare -- makande, which is beans and lentils (I think). Very hearty. By this time, I'd think that everyone would be used to the fact that I eat their food…I mean, I have lunch with them almost every single day. But it continues to amuse them...

"Leez! Unakula makande?" (Lindsay! You're eating makande?)

"Ndiyo, napenda!" (Yep, I love it!)

"Ah!" (gleeful laughter follows)

Everyone wants to know if I've eaten ugali (very very African) and if it exists in America. This is how you make ugali (get ready): Boil massive pot of water. Add tons of flour. Stir. Add more flour. Stir. Add more flour. Stir. Repeat indefinitely. Yum… It's actually really good as long as you have stuff to eat with it! And a very practical recipe if you ever find yourself in a situation in which your pantry happens to be stocked with nothing but flour. I've quickly gotten over my aversion to beans, as they seemed to confront me at every turn. To my great surprise, I've also gotten used to the cooked unripe bananas…I used to dread the sight of them, anticipating with trepidation the impending dry and bready texture, so inappropriate to a fruit, that was about to enter my mouth. But I have recently had some really great cooked banana experiences that changed my outlook. It's all in the mind, really. I've reshaped my expectation concerning daily meals -- if I'm only bargaining on sustenance and nutrition, then any amount of tastiness is a happy bonus!

My lessons are coming along pretty well…learning a lot as I go. Haven't been able to go very deep since their school year is already finishing up this month, but hopefully next year will be a bit more structured.

Though my video editing skills are minimal, enjoy this compilation of kids songs :)

**

Thank you teacher

Thank you teacher to help to teach us

Love Jesus is the Lord of mirrocor is the lord of He God

**

Our teacher is Linsi

we Love our teacher

is Linsi we love her

it is our teacher

**

for Largsay:

I Love you Lasay

I help to see your

and I love one day

you will to our home

or I will cowe to you

to go to our home where

you came to our home yow

will meet the cake and 

and sweet do you love 

me or other class?

One day you will meet

the dog and will playing 

today do you will the when

you go to our home

do you like the

banan

orangs

ugala

ar

you sings

sings i you come to our howe

**

home life

First of all, let me just get out a random mosquito rant: Do they not realize that my mosquito net is a death zone? Because I know they're not suicidal… Can their microscopic little eyes not see the graveyard of small black stains on the white mesh netting, the exact size and shape of their former companions? [**note: Miriam informs me that mosquitoes, in fact, do not have eyes but are led by heat] Because landing on the outside of it means certain death. You have cut off entirely one half of your escape route by coming to rest on a flat surface, especially one that your killer lies directly underneath.

Back to my topic: So, because we haven't yet been able to open the orphan home I'm going to live at and help out with, for now I've been living with the pastor's family, a little bit outside the main part of Arusha. The pastor is currently in America for the year, but I live with his wife, daughter and usually 3-5 various transient house guests, which makes for a a nice lively family environment.

Mama Elisikia, Pastor Eric's wife, and her 18-year old daughter, Miriam, dressed up for church

They are beautiful and hospitable people, so full of love…Mama Elisikia adoringly considers me the replacement for her first-born daughter (about my age) who is currently living in Korea. She started giving me hugs the first day I got here, which immediately induced my love. Miriam graduated high school last month and I'm currently helping her with college applications to go study in the US next year. Luckily for me, she's one of the best English speakers I've met here, so it's nice to have someone to translate ridiculous things for me and to talk to when I need someone there. Mama tries really hard to speak English, and is usually able to communicate what she needs to, but often slows down trying think of a word, gets frustrated and switches to Swahili mid-sentence. For some reason, she also adds "-ee/-y" to the end of pretty much every word, which is cute :) [Actually an exorbitant amount of people do this] She goes, "Ooh my Dohter! You giv-ee me headache-y!" when I come home after 4pm without telling her I'm going to be "late."

I'm filled with thankfulness so many things--my own room and bathroom, soft bed, comfy blanket, mosquito net with no holes [okay, there's just 1], toilet paper in the bathroom, crickets and roosters the only sound outside my window (goodbye Muslim prayer calls & brassy-voiced bread vendors!), and Mama who comes into my room every evening saying "Leez! Come to eat-y!" It's really nice to be living with Christians again…Mama E's favorite phrases--considered appropriate to use in any situation, whether blessing a newborn baby, slowly lowering herself into a chair, or opening the refrigerator door--are "Halleluuujah, thank you Jesus!" "Ooh my God-y, thank you Jeeesus!" and "Ohhhhh I love-y you Jesus." You can just feel that the house is filled with love, peace, and God's Spirit. After living for a month in 99% Islamic Zanzibar and only getting to go to church one time, it's crazy how much comfort I found when I arrived simply in hearing people pray together before they eat! Mama has started to make me pray in Swahili before dinner every night, which struck fear into my heart at the first request, as the classroom doesn't really teach you how to say things like "bless this food to nourish our bodies." I usually manage to haltingly get out "Jesus Christ---I thank you---for---this food---that Mama has cooked. Bless---this house---and this family. In the name---of Jesus. Amen." If I think harder and maybe mention something about the weather and some church prayer request I'm aware of, I'll usually get some exuberant encouragement from Mama: "Goood! Today-ee you try! You are-y real Tanzanian!"

Partly spurred by this pressure to know how to bless the food, as well as by my desire to be able understand the sermons on Sundays, share the gospel, lead worship, teach Sunday School and pray for people, I have started on a quest to read through the Swahili Psalms and New Testament. I'm also trying to memorize one short verse in Swahili per day…obviously it helps to learn verses I already know in English. My first few days' verses:

Mshukuruni Bwana kwa kuwa ni mwema;        (Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good;)
Kwa maana fadhili zake ni za milele.                 (His love/faithfulness endures forever.)
Zaburi 136:1 / Psalm 136:1

Nanyi, mtanitafuta na kuniona                           (And you will seek me and find me)
Mtakaponitafuta kwa moyo wenu wote.             (When you seek me with all your heart.)
Yeremia 29:13 / Jeremiah 29:13

If you think that "mtakaponitafuta" might be hard to say, you are right. Swahili grammar is 'agglutinative,' which means they put all the modifiers (object, tense, relative, etc.) into the verb itself. The plain version of that word would be "tafuta" ("seek") But they add so much into it that it transforms into MegaWord--"mtakaponitafuta" ("When you will seek me"), which I have never been able to not stumble over. Kind of reminiscent of "supercalifragilisticexpialidocious." Intimidating, but runs trippingly on the tongue.

Last week I was encouraged almost to tears by Mama Elisikia and our new guest (James' mom)…they both went off exclaiming for the longest time, 'you're such a special girl…you're so different…you like our food…you don't have high expectations…you bear with us in our lifestyle…you'll be able to be a missionary anywhere, even in a Masaai village…it's so hard to move to another country, you have God's calling on your life...etc etc!' It's so sweet, because I don't see anything special about the way I act--they're the ones who are ridiculously hospitable and generous. I'm always anxious to show thankfulness and not to offend people, even at the expense of having to eat until I'm going to explode or swallowing things that I would have never deliberate sought to put in my mouth.

One one hand, it is affirming to my life direction and investment. My whole life I've tried to take every uncomfortable situation as "missionary training." Have to sleep on the floor? Oh well, missionary training. Spiders? Be brave, missionary training. Hot water is out? Missionary training. If I think about it, I suppose on some level what they're saying is true--I take showers with a bucket of cold water, I open my bathroom door and baby cockroaches scatter, I eat pretty much the same plain food every day--but on the other hand it's really not…even in writing that, I'm like, oh my gosh seriously praise the Lord I have a bathroom door to open, clean water, and these people cooking me satisfying (and free!) food! The problem is that their outburst mainly arises from comparing me to other American visitors who apparently, in their experience, are quite a bit more discriminating in their palates and arrogant in their attitudes. But I'm not too interested in being judged in comparison to Americans… Like at the end of my life, God's looks at me and goes, "Well, at least you were awesomer than the rest of America! Nice job!" Yeah, I'm not banking on that. I don't think anything really looks that impressive next to being torturously murdered on behalf of people that hate you. My goal is not to be impressive…Jesus has that covered.