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.

tanzanians

I LOVE Tanzanians…They are a beautiful people. It's fortunate that I do, because everywhere I go everyone wants to be my friend.

I've always envied those people who just make friends wherever they go--Mari Haraldsson knows the name of every security guard at NYU, they like bake her cookies and name their babies after her. Lindsay Handrich has always been able to start a friendly banter with every checkout girl, ending with them divulging all the discontentments of their day/life to her.

I, on the other hand, have always been more overly independent, not wanting to ask people for help and avoiding unnecessary interaction with others (as far as being out in public, shopping, etc)--preferring to take longer or pay extra or be inconvenienced rather than involve someone else in it! Kind of ridiculous.

This is slowing being chipped away...

I take the same route to school every day--by bus and walking through town up to a neighborhood called Mianzini, where both the school and church are located.

Now, in Zanzibar I started ignoring most people who greet me, because they're mostly all men and it's hard to discern in half a second whether they are safe to respond to or whether they will follow you home, confessing their undying love to you for 20 minutes ("Wherever you go, whatever you do, always know there is someone in Zanzibar who loves you! Who knows, maybe one day you will return home to find your lover in the arms of another woman, and then you can come to me!") So to avoid people like that, I decided to ignore the 200 greetings addressed to me per day…the downside of this decision being that I usually had to ignore 4 to 8 repetitions of the salute, each increasing in intensity.

At first this was also how I acted when walking around here. But lately, I've experimented with giving Arusha inhabitants a chance. It's proven to be pretty safe as far as men are concerned--although I still choose to ignore those addresses which include the words 'baby', 'sweetie' or 'mchumba' (dictionary: "one who is sought after in marriage"). And as far as the rest of the community, it's been the most awesome eye-opener to realize how small the community is and how friendly everyone is. Sometimes I walk the 5 minute route between the church and the school 4 times in a day--I greet or am greeted by pretty much every person I pass,

An example afternoon, on my way back from school on Tuesday:

I'm walking to the bus and pass Juditha from the worship team, who convinces me to come visit the restaurant where she works. Don't picture 'restaurant' as in any restaurant you've ever been to--this is like wooden stakes and aluminum sheets for walls, a sheet waving in the wind covering the holes for door and window, dirt floor, and some planks nailed together into long thin benches--2 low for seats and 2 high for tables. But the food is traditional home-cooked Tanzanian fare and cost about 75 cents! I sit down inside and Sifa, a mama from the church, lectures/encourages me for 20 minutes about how I should never ever say "Hapana" (No), but every morning, afternoon and evening I need to say "'I can!' 'I can'!" ("Naweza!") as in, "I can learn Kiswahili!" and God will help me because "I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength, hallelujah!" She makes me repeat after her a prayer of blessing (in Swahili) over the newly opened restaurant. She says it's hard for them because there's never enough money for people in Tanzania, but God is in control.

I stopped in a duka la dawa (medicine shop) to pick up some meeds, and greet the two men trying to fix the antenna of the TV showing fuzzy black and white figures running around on a soccer field. When I didn't know my weight in kgs for the dosage, he took me across the street to a dry goods vendor to step on their scale used to measure sack of flour and beans. We go through the usual exchange of where I learned Swahili and why I am here. Deogratis explains how his name is Latin for 'freedom in God.'

"I really desire to be your friend. You must come by here and talk with us, and when you need drugs, don't go anywhere else." For 3 seconds I was confused, thinking he was propositioning narcotics to me like the wannabe rastas on the Zanzibar beaches…wondered if there was some under-the-table commerce going on in this unassuming drugstore…subsequently wondered if it was a commonly known fact that you could get dope at every little duka la dawa… My split-second confusion was also probably influenced in that moment by the fact that he had just asked, "Are you a drunkard?" To which I did some cursory soul-searching... But then he thankfully clarified: "Do you drink alcohol? Me, I just like juice. I will go to the restaurant, and sit, and drink some juice." I left, promising to stop by time to time to say hi and that I would be faithful to their drug services.

Walking down the path, a group of young boys 20 meters behind yelled after me, laughing and asking if I like popsicles (which they were eating). Most definitely they didn't expect me to understand them--when I countered back in Swahili, they cracked up and we joked around for a while before our paths split. Down at the bus stand, a guy carrying a mattress on his head greeted me and was like, "Hey! You're going to Njiro!" I laughed, realizing he must be a bus driver I drove with at some point. Then on the bus home, a high school girl starts asking me about America and telling me about her dreams to be a fashion designer… "One day when you see my famous designs, you will say, Eh! I remember to sit on the bus with her!"

People are just so engaging, and excited for me to be around. If I say the correct greeting to an elder, or a slang greeting to someone on the street--kind of a "sup--nothin' much" equivalent--people often freak out. I'm getting a lot better at overhearing the random remarks and asides not directed to me but said about me:

from a fruit stand vendor overhearing me greet someone: "Eh!? How does she know Swahili?!"
or by a passing pedestrian as I get on the daladala: "Hey, you got a White on your bus!"

Been having these flashes of happiness lately, where I look around at everything and am filled with joy about the reality of life here. Like during sports afternoon at school this week: I'm sitting in the shade on the sidelines, the air is brown and foggy from the dust kicked up as a group of kids run around playing Foxtail, and I look around and realize how many faces I recognize, how many names I know, how many genuine and loving people there are--simple people that have been working together for years, living and eating and playing and teaching the same kids as they grow up from class to class, and that have welcomed me, taken care of me, been so hospitable & friendly & giving. All these things are comforting, after so many weeks of feeling ridiculously uncomfortable and out of place. Not that those feelings don't also still exist every so often… But it's nice to start having these moments where I feel at home.

a wedding + various cultural vexations

It's funny how the most normal daily activity becomes a traffic-stopping spectacle--putting my contacts in, stretching before bed, doing anything at all on my laptop, I am the subject of interested/confused/weirded-out stares. Is it wrong to sometimes desire to just edit pictures in peace and do yoga without being judged?

I also find it interesting that we can eat bananas for lunch, and then have a banana for dessert…I wonder if I'm the only one who notices? But I suppose they're prepared differently, so it makes it okay--like having a toasted sandwich followed by bread pudding. The lunch-bananas are cooked in gravy, so, you know, no worries about balancing out the food pyramid--it's all good.

Most of all, it's extremely funny** how people decide to explain exceedingly simple things and then speak ridiculously fast and be completely incomprehensible when relaying important information.

**Read my personal use of the word "funny" as: often amusing, occasionally frustrating, usually making me feel like a 2 year old

for instance…

Tanzanian: [Swahili] Now this here is a river. River.

or

Tanzanian [Swahili]: You are eating bananas. We cook them.

versus

Tanzanian [Swahili]: I need you to blah blah blahblah, make sure to blah blah blah blah blah before 2:00 because if you are late blahblahblah blahblahblah!!

Then when realizing I'm not getting what they're saying, invariably the person chooses to translate the one word that I did understand in their sentence.

Tanzanian [Swahili]: Blah blah blah your clothes blah blah blah.

Me [Swahili]: Sorry, say it again?

Tanzanian [Swahili, emphatically]: Blah blah I want to blah blah blah your clothes, blah blah blah blah.

Me: Eh??

Tanzanian [English]: Your clothes!!

Me: *frustration*

I understand that the subject of your instruction regards my clothes. Now I want to know what you want me to do with my clothes. How about slowing down with the verb conjugation, tenses, negation and object infixes that are all crammed into one agglutinative word, not the elementary nouns. And I learned how to say banana like my first day. 

A lot of times, things are also said in a colloquial way that when translated literally sounds ridiculous--I'm sure we have the same things in English--but I regularly feel like an idiot, and respond with a bewildered look, thinking I'm misunderstanding what they're saying, but after they translate exactly what I thought I heard them say, I realize the point of the statement was simply phrased in some cryptic way.

For example--you try to figure out how to respond to the following questions, and see if my responding thoughts are not invalid:

- How are you continuing?…...………(continuing what??)

- You are in the room?………….….…(yes, you can see I am standing in this room with you…)

- [upon greeting] You have said?….….(?!?!?!)

Yeah.

Ok so last Saturday I went to my first Tanzanian christian wedding! 

I had been to an Islamic one in Zanzibar--crazy different: women and men are in separate ceremonies, everyone sits on the floor in a big room, and a taarab choir sings for hours while the women get up and dance in front of them waving money around before they stick it on the musicians foreheads! The bride, face powdered white and dressed in a shiny fluorescent green gown, only came in at the very end for a few minutes to take pictures with everyone.

This wedding had the outline of a typical American christian wedding, but was infused with vibrant African liveliness. A dancing choir preceded the wedding party as they walked down the aisle, while the guests cheered and…um I don't know the word to describe what they do--I think they call it kupiga kelele (make noise) like yipping "HEI HEI HEI!" (haha someone help me out…) During the reception, guests got in a conga line to dance their gifts up to the front and shake hands with the bride & groom. 'Gifts' is truly an all-inclusive term--people were carrying anything from money and nicely wrapped gifts, to plastic chairs and rolls of aluminum roofing…the highlight was when people came down the aisle carrying a fully-assembled and mattress-ed wooden bed above their heads:

(thanks mom & dad!)

They did not, however, bring in the 3 goats that the bride's sister gave the newlyweds. Wise move.

This precious child was sitting in the front with me--the flower girl in the wedding--but I found out that she and her sister are orphans. In fact I think they are some of the girls that are being considered for the orphanage when it opens, so I might get to live with them…!Right now they are living with their grandmother far outside the city. Both were shy initially, but fortunately my favorite pastime is winning the hearts of the bashful. 

James kept coming around from the aisle behind to sit with me--another initially shy kid, hiding his face in his grandma's lap, but I charmed him :) Also living with his grandmother, his parents just got back from spending the last 2 years working in the States at the church's office there--they had to leave him here so he could start school and not be held back by switching from American to Tanzanian school system. While in town they're staying at the pastor's house with me too, but now he's afraid of them because he hasn't seen them in years…really hard!

chillin in my room at home…he's quite inquisitive and destructive with all my possessions

Also the week before this, my Libyan friend Rabia visited from Zanzibar (we went to the Taasisi together). We visited Arusha National Park and saw a decent amount of animals, went to a snake zoo and wore a live snake as a necklace, rode camels, crashed the grand opening of a hotel restaurant to get free pizza and coffee, and here we are dressed up in regal Masaai attire

Some of my sweet notes from students this week:

I love you Linzi 

I wish you are orait Linzi now that you are happy with your new life

Rachel

and God bless you

I love you my teacher

Thank you for teaching us

I thank you my teacher for

teaching us God bless your fami

ly and I am belive God will

bless your family In Jesu

s we belive and we

trust lord and is the lord of

might

(From Praise 

to Linzi I give you)

Dear 

my freind Linzi I love you so much Because to

day you are give good things to do. me friend I love you

Linzi

but remember I love you so much.

I remember.

mwalimu mzungu

Why do African kids adore Mzungus so much??? I can't really fathom why they are so obsessed with me…they could, and do, spend hours just holding my hand, stroking my face, kissing my cheek, fingering my hair, staring and smiling at me…haha I sound like I'm describing a lover.. But loving them fills my often so longing and lonely heart…It is a precious gift from God to have these precious treasures run to me in delight every morning, never running out of love to give and show.

Unfortunately, African men also adore Mzungus…Attention men of Tanzania: You do not love me, I am not your "baby," and if I did not respond to the first 7 times you shouted "Mzungu" or "Hello" at me, I am not going to respond the 8th time. Your failure to get my attention is not due to yelling too quietly. 

Another thing I am being told every time I turn around is "Pole" (poh-lay)--it means like, 'Sorry, my condolences,' specifically when something bad happens to you. But I can't figure out what bad thing they think has happened to me. I have a suspicion it might be the fact that I'm in Africa at all…maybe they assume every day, every movement is extremely strenuous for me to live through. Or maybe fatigue is written on my face? Or maybe I don't realize when people are talking about me--often "Pole" comes when two Tanzanian are chatting next to me at church for instance, and then one turns to me with this phrase…was one relating my personal challenges to the other? I can't figure it out-----[**edit**] Proof: while I was writing this very post in the teacher's lounge, a lady comes over and says 'Pole..' to me. I asked her why, and she said it was because I was doing work…? Then later I arrived at a hotel lounge to get internet, and the bartender says 'Pole..' -- supposedly he knew/thought I was tired. I'm still confused.

remember my friend Douglas? chillin' in the teacher's lounge, showing him my computer in between 

him grilling me about the names of animals or how long it takes an email to get to the US...

my 3rd graders being PhotoBooth crazy...since that first day I spent with them, they kind of 

adopted/kidnapped me as their teacher... they hold a special place in my heart! i love getting 

to know all the different classes, but they were my first :)

school: week 1

I have now started my official teaching schedule. Monday I was thrilled to receive a lucid time table of classes and have all my questions answered by the principal--school supplies available, taking time off, academic calendar, and, most importantly--what in the world they want me to teach. The answer to this is (thankfully): how to read and write music! Praise the Lord, that is pretty straightforward. Although I enjoy coming to classes and teaching random songs and telling stories as I did the first week, I prefer and work better having a specific goal in mind.

mwalimu/teacher lindsay's schedule

Mon
8:05-9:25        Computer - Rose (secretary)

11:20-12:40    Computer - Evetha (finance)

Tues
8:05-9:25        Music - 2nd grade 

11:20-12:40    Music - 3rd grade

Wed
8:05-9:25        Computer - Rose

11:20-12:00    Music - 4th grade

Thurs
8:05-9:25        Music - 1st grade 

11:20-12:40    Music - 5th grade

Fri
9:30-10:40      Computer - Catherine (teacher)

11:20-12:40    All-school games and sports

[From 9:25-11:20 every day is an overly generous breakfast break]

As mentioned before, I have never really taught a classroom or made a lesson plan, I don't know what a lesson plan is supposed to look like...I'm kind of winging it, as you might say. Luckily, I'm a decently intelligent and adaptive person, so I'm breaking up this handicap

1st week lesson plan overview:

1) introduce myself & musical background, show pictures on my laptop of playing music in USA

2) have kids write a song to introduce themselves (give my example first)

3) presentation of songs (videoed, so I can learn their names later)

4) introduction: the Language of Music - reading & writing music

I'm learning as I go…running into various challenges--it's hard to try and guess beforehand what the level of understanding is for each grade, how fast they will be able to learn a concept and to what extent do I need to simplify it. The language barrier is also difficult to navigate…their teachers speak with outrageous accents, so my attempts to speak clearly might actually be making it be harder to understand me! I'm always trying to say things slowly and simply.

Computer lessons have been straightforward -- each of the ladies have different levels of computer knowledge, so last week I tried to figure out what they already know, what they want to learn, and observe them to see where I might be able to help them work more efficiently. 

The limited level of knowledge was really surprising to me...My first tutoring session, Rose's opening question was how to make text bold! She wanted to know how to make a new document, and to use a flash drive. Catherine is already pretty competent at Word, so I showed her how to make a wedding invitation in Microsoft Publisher and then helped her design a birthday card for her husband.

When other teachers in the school hear that I'm teaching computer they get crazy excited and beg me to teach them as well. It's exciting that in such a simple way I can meet a big need for skill development. Secretary work is ridiculously multiplied because of the lack of computer skills -- someone will take an hour and a half to transcribe a test that I could type out in 10 minutes. Because they doesn't know how to draw simple shapes or type mathematical symbols in Word, after printing out the tests they will have to go back and write it in by hand on every single one. Even finger dexterity is an issue...In teaching correct typing posture, one of our biggest challenges is to keep slipping fingers from going ddddddddddddddddddddddddd. Since I don't have any teaching aids or anything, I've been writing out simple typing exercises to bring for them, e.g.:

EXERCISE 1: LEFT-HAND, MIDDLE LINE

******TYPE WITH THE CORRECT FINGERS ONLY******

*****LOOK AT THE SCREEN, NOT AT YOUR HANDS*****

1) On the line underneath, type exactly what is written above:

e.g.  asdf

      asdf

->asdf asdf asdf asdf asdf asdf asdf asdf asdf asdf asdf asdf 

->

->as df as df as df as df as df as df as df as df as df as df

->

Yeah, pretty groundbreaking work, I know.
If you want a copy, I'll send you my PayPal.