Rob is in Africa.

2.21.2006

A Brief Yet Triumphant Interlude

So yesterday, while we were practicing, one of my players decides its a good time to sing, at the top of his lungs. What song does he choose? "Still the One" by Shania Twain. You know how it goes... "looks like we made it, look how far we've come now, baby..." and so on. I felt obligated to sing it with him. It was a pretty fun practice, despite the looks we got from passers-by. Then I got home and accidentally superglued my fingers together. So I suppose my day ended up balancing out quite nicely.

2.18.2006

Engineers Can Be Heroes Too

I asked Andrew what I should write about here, what he would like to hear about. All he mentioned was that he wanted me to write about how bad "The Ghost and the Darkness" was. His major complaint with the film (and I call it a "film" here rather than a "movie" intentionally) was that Val Kilmer's character, who was the mastermind behind the search parties which eventually saved the village from the lions, was in actuality a civil engineer. The error inherent in my brother's line of thinking is that civil engineers cannot be lion-hunting heros. Andrew, I must remind you that this film was based on a true story. Therefore, at some point in time, this engineer must have truly inspired the natives of the village to face their fears and hunt the lions. Engineers can be heroes too, Andrew. Engineers can be heroes too.
But this is a digression from what I was planning on writing about today, the coaching of basketball. The school managed to purchase two balls from town somehow, so beginning last week we started playing again. We practice three days a week, usually for about two hours or so. I suppose that my biggest problem is that I simply do not know how to coach basketball. This may come as a surprise to some of you, but I was never a highly skilled player. In fact, I have forgotten most of what I knew about the fundamentals of basketball, such as where a forward is supposed to stand and what he should do. My students who come to play, they have a surprising amount of raw talent, and they keep asking me to teach them new abilities. Now, the real challenge here is keeping the respect of these students who have this natural skill when I myself am lacking a bit. Yesterday there were about 20 of us who spent an hour practicing shooting, I was trying to teach them to "shoot like Mike". The unfortunate part of all this is that I myself am unable to shoot like Mike. Now, because our school has 600 students and because there are so few diversions for them, many students come just to watch us practice. In America, we called this the "peanut gallery", and here they behave the same way. They sit on the sides and mock the players who are less skilled or make errors so that it makes many students afraid to try out. What should I do about these rascals? Its nice to have an audience, especially during scrimmages, but not one who is insulting the players. In fact, when I was attempting to teach them how to shoot yesterday, the commentators began trying to harass me, the coach. They were saying I should show them how it was done, if I knew so well. How do you respond to that? I took a ball and shot the best I could, but it rimmed out. Then, they started heckling me in Swahili. Here I must go into an aside. For those of you who have ever known a language being spoke around you that wasn't your first language, it is almost like eavesdropping. Especially when those speaking this second language assume that you don't know it. When I am coaching I use English, as is mandated by the school. The players on the "court" whom I have spoken to in Swahili started laughing, knowing that I understood everything that these others were saying. I listened to them saying how "the white man can't even score himself", "we need an African coach, he is no good", "this technique for shooting is bad" and so on. I had to laugh myself, and finally I told them I understood what they were saying. They got embarrassed and quieted down, except for one who seemed intent on challenging my authority and continued running his mouth. I am not an authoritarian by any means. I think these kids could probably learn to play almost as well without me, and I won't demand their respect just because I am their coach. But it does bother me to be disrespected, so I told this little rapscalion, in Swahili, to put up or shut up. He sauntered onto the court, took his time to set up his shot, making sure everyone was watching him. Then he took one of those shots that little children take, throwing the ball with both hands from behind the head. He airballed, badly, and it was glorious. Once the laughter had subsided, I proceeded to tell him that, if he wanted, I would teach him how to shoot sometime, but that for today I wanted him to leave. I think he would've left anyway, he was pretty ashamed. Then we continued. What do you think, did I handle this correctly? I don't want to be a harsh coach, making the spectators leave if they aren't playing. A little good-natured jabbing helps to inspire sometimes as well. So I don't want to always run these kids off, but I hope the situations won't continue to exacerbate like that. What if he had made his basket? I suppose I got lucky. Anyway, I guess I wrote that little story just to see if anyone had any advice on being a coach, especially with the particulars in basketball.
That's it for today. I'll try to do something hilarious this upcoming week so that I have a funny story to write. One last thing, if any noble person has desired to call me since I've been here, but hasn't due to cost, my mom emailed me the name of the phone card she's been using. You can buy one at the site Alosmart.com. The name of the card itself is "Desert Express" (glamorous, no?) and it is something like 12 cents a minute. If you forgot my number, in its entirety it is 011-255-748-254-271. I got one or two random calls before, but I think they were direct from a cell phone and quite expensive. My phone gets pretty good service here, but it cuts out now and again, so if you try and fail, perservere. Take care, peace out.

2.07.2006

My Foot-In-Mouth Habit

I don't want to start a post by saying "Well, not much has happened since the last time I posted" as that immediately bores people. If you are already bored, I'm apologize, but also never come to Tanzania. It took two hours to get our dinner after we ordered the other night, and they only took our order after we'd been there almost an hour. The best part? They forgot two out of eight peoples' food. The real best part? We've all adjusted to life here, so we weren't surprised and no one got particularly upset. Tanzanians aren't really known for their punctuality. In fact, if a Tanzanian arrives on time for a meeting, his fellows who arrive late ask him why he is asking like an mzungu. There is mzungu-time and Tanzanian-time. They differ by somewhere between 30 minutes and a couple hours, depending on the urgency of the business to be conducted. Are you real hungry? No problem, two hours. Need to check your back account balance? Only half an hour today you lucky lion. And so on. Our teachers meetings at school almost always start late, and then run late, which is too bad, as the students just sit in the classes wondering where we are. Ah, c'est la vie.
My weekend was eventful for a change. For those of you going to see the World Cup this year (Sasha and Ivan, curse you both with a million fleas), I watched a bit of the African Cup over the weekend. As you can imagine, the competition is quite good. Aren't their 4 or 5 teams from Africa in the World Cup this year? Anyway, I went to a fellow teachers house and watched the games with them. It was funny, they thought I was completely naive as to how soccer is played. Granted, I'm not an expert by any means, but they were telling me things like "Ok, that man just shot at the goal. If it would have entered the goal, his team would get a point." I felt sassy, so I mentioned how Senegal was playing a 4-3-3 formation, and they all stopped and looked at me. Then they offered me a beer. I think I made the crucial difference with that comment. The games were good, tonight are the semis. Nigeria v. Ivory Coast, and Egypt v. Senegal. Everyone's abuzz with anticipation. I will enjoy watching Egypt play again because their coach looks like an angry Egyptian Will Ferrell. Oh yeah.
In more meaningful news, I went to a local elder's house for lunch on Sunday. It went pretty well, I managed only one foot-in-mouth. We got on the subject of traditional foods of differing areas throughout Tanzania, and one of us brought up my archnemesis- dagaa. Dagaa are a type of fish. Each one is a thin two inches in size, and is dried and sold with several hundred of its foul brothers. If you were to spend five minutes walking around any large market, the memory you would have would be of an evil smell that pervaded every nook and cranny. That would be the smell of dagaa. Now the great thing about dagaa is that once they are rehydrated and cooked, they taste just like they smell. Isn't that wonderful? No it isn't. It is the opposite of wonderful. So the elder and myself are discussing the foods we like, and I guess it must have been him that mentioned these little blighters. Well, I took my trademark stance on dagaa, using the harshest words possible to say how much I dislike it. He took it in good humor, as Tanzanians always do. Not fifteen minutes later, his wife, who had been cooking lunch for us for the last hour, arrived with ugali and, foot-in-mouth, dagaa. Oh good. Ugali is corn flour and water, thats it. It is like an awestrikingly flavorless dumpling. Its strong point is that it is like tofu in that it tastes like what you serve with it. Well, most days this is its strong point, as there are great Indian spices here. However, when it is served with dagaa, this becomes a massive flaw. For those of you who don't like trout or steelhead or some other freshwater fish due to its "fishy taste" please empathize with me here. The fishy taste of dagaa is enough to make trout blanch and transform into lobster. So not only was I stuck eating a mound of it, choking through a mound of it, sad bite by sad, hesitant bite, I had also somehow insulted the food my host was serving me. It was like a fishy-foot-in-mouth, and thats the worst of them all. But no one seemed to care, and I must not have been too offensive. The man invited me to travel with him in March to his home village for a week. It is almost a day's travel away, and I will be the first white man to ever stay there, he says. We'll see, it sounds tempting in an uncomfortable, meaningful experience kind of way. I think Calvin's father would say that it would "build character" and its only for a week. So I will probably go.
That's all I've got for now. I heard the Seahawks took second in the Super Bowl. I would have rather they took first in that particular game, but at least they made it for once. I hope all of you who went had a good, safe (ahem) time. Peace