Some Things Do Change...

You know how if things are going pretty smoothly in your life, and someone asks you whats up, you reply "not much" or "the usual" and so on..? Or if I am writing an entry and life has been calm, I'll start by saying "so not much has happened since I last wrote." Well, this post will be the opposite of that. A lot of things have happened, and life got pretty crazy here for awhile. I apologize in advance for the length of this post, but I've got a lot to say.

It all started last week Saturday, when one of our students complained of feeling sick. The next day, he was taken to the regional hospital, where they diagnosed him with malaria. However, this was an incorrect diagnosis, which they realized when they saw his condition exacerbating (GRE word #1). On Monday the poor kid went into a coma, and was having trouble breathing. At this point, he was diagnosed again and found to have meningitis(!). I'm not sure which type, but thats not important. What is inmportant was that the proper medicine was in short supply, so the entire town had to scoured to find him any. Maybe it was too little, too late, for a day and night later, he passed away. This was around 11pm Tuesday night.

At his bedside, a fellow student had been present. This student immediately called his classmates to tell them the terrible news. Within a few minutes of his death, a majority of the students knew of it. Now, this is the first student death at Ihungo in five or six years, but I've been informed that the "standard procedures" when a student passes away are to hold a school-wide assembly the following day to address the issue. Well, the advent (GRE word #2) of cellular phones allowed this procedure to be circumvented, and the students were aware of the death before the administration. And they were very, very unhappy.

Shortly after getting the news, the students arranged amongst themselves to meet at their parade ground. Once assembled, the organized a plan to march en masse to the headmaster's house, to voice their grievances. Their largest concern was that the student wasn't treated properly, they thought with more attention he could have been spared. Maybe, maybe not... Well, at this gathering, another student collapsed and was taken to the house of another school official. I suppose this student's collapse was the progenitor (GRE word #3) of the events which follow. While this student was being looked at in the other house, the students decided to march, as planned. But now, rage was with them.

They arrived at the headmaster's house, roughly 500 of them, as a seething mob. Somewhere en route to his house, mob mentality had taken over and they didn't calmly present their concerns, as was initially planned. Now if you recall from my previous post about the soccer riot, what these kids do when they form a mob is throw rocks. So that's what they did. They began bombarding the headmaster's house with rocks, and the yell "Tunakufa!" got taken up ("We are dying!"). They demanded the headmaster come out and face them, and give them an explanation, but prudently he remained inside and told them via a window that he would address them if they calmed down and returned to the parade ground. They refused.

I should point out two important facts now. The first is that they arrived at his house around 1am, and that at this time, the power had gone out. The second is that Aaron's house was adjacent to the headmaster's (yes, was; we'll get to that). Imagine waking up in the middle of the night to the cacophony (GRE word #4) of 500 students rioting, and then realizing you can't turn on the lights to see what's going on- the night is stygian (GRE word #5).

That's what happened to Aaron, he woke up, and not knowing what was happening, he went outside. The students saw him, and yelled at him "Go back inside! This doesn't concern you!" He did, as anyone would when faced with 500 angry students with rocks. The rioting and shouting continued for an hour or so, but eventually the mob moved away from the headmaster's house and into the soccer field, where a coalition from the school met with them.

Around this time, two things happened concurrently (GRE word #6). First, the school administration realized the students were getting more and more out of hand, and that they wouldn't disperse. Second, Aaron assumed all the students had left his immediate area, as the shouting had ceased. He decided to go outside again and see the aftermath of this maelstrom (GRE word #7). When he went out on his porch, he heard some commotion around the headmaster's car, and so he shined his flashlight in that direction. The students he illuminated immediately responded by throwing rocks at him. Maybe to avoid being identified, maybe because they were just angry... Whatever the case, two of the windows in Aaron's house were broken, and he was hit a glancing blow to his head. Don't worry; he's fine physically. But emotionally, the fact that his students he came here to help would be brazen (GRE word #8) enough throw stones at him really got under his skin. So much so, the next morning he called Peace Corps and told them the situation, requesting a transfer.

At around 3am, the administration called the police, who arrived to break up the riot an hour later. Most of the students fled into the hills surrounding Ihungo, so as to avoid punishment. They are still slowly trickling in, a week later. The riot attracted regional and even national attention, making the front page of the news in Dar Es Salaam.

What matters to you is probably my safety. If there's one thing you should not worry about, its my safety. This might sound counterintuitive (GRE word #9) considering what you just read, but my house was far from the scene. I even had some of my students tell me they had wanted to ask to sleep in my house, to escape all the riot nonsense. I've never felt jeopardized here, even during this recent debacle.

But, as I've said, Ihungo is different now. Aaron was in fact transferred. He has been placed at a school in Njombe, which is two days' travel from Bukoba. In fact, Peace Corps was considering transferring me as well. Safety issues are of prime importance to our national office, and they had trouble rationalizing the act of moving one person but not two, especially at the same site. My regional director flew to Bukoba to ascertain (GRE word #10) exactly how volatile the situation was. It took him, my headmaster, various teachers and students, and myself roughly 8 hours worth of meetings to decide that Ihungo was A) calm again, and B) safe for me to stay at. At this juncture, it looks likes we succeeded. I will probably not have to move. However, its not my decision, or even that of the regional director. The national director has to look at the reports and make an impersonal choice as to my fate. I'm still nervous. I don't want to leave Ihungo. In fact, my students even gave me a round of standing applause when I told them how I had disagreed with Peace Corps, saying I didn't want to go. That was a pretty solid gesture.

So, in summary, for the long-paragraph wary:
1) A student passed away.
2) The other students rioted.
3) Aaron was hit with a stone.
4) Peace Corps moved him.
5) I am safe, but might also be moved.

Things are different at Ihungo without Aaron. Its going to be another act of adaptation to adjust to the lack of his presence. There are times I want to call him to watch a movie or cook dinner, and as I begin to dial I remember that his house is empty now. It all happened really suddenly. He flew out last Thursday.

What's up with my students loving to riot so much? Does anyone think it might be related to their school life? (Consult my post "Saved By the Bell: The African Years" if you haven't burned out on reading today). Thats it for today, sorry for my verbosity (GRE word #11).

PS I'm studying for the GRE.

Some Things Never Change...

I don't know what I did right in a past life, but in the last week two different people had barbecue parties. This might not sound like something amazing to you, but lets consider my normal dinner- rice. Oh, and some vegetables to put on the rice. So when I am invited to a party which revolves around a big, meat-cooking grill, it becomes a near-spiritual event. Two in one week is unheard of... Both were immaculate, and I ate roughly three paper-plate-fulls of food each time. However, the first one is notable, for reasons I shall explain.

This first BBQ was a going-away party for a Tanzanian friend who is studying at the University of Maryland. It was a little awkward at first because she had invited her family and their friends, but also us white folks, and we ended up forming two distinct groups. One circle of chair for the foreigners, one for the locals. Kind of like at junior high dances... But once the meat was thrown onto the grill, we began to intermingle. That is the power of a BBQ, it erases cultural boundaries with its universality.

Being a member of the male sex, I immediately walked over to watch the technique of the guy working the BBQ. Even here, men cluster around the grill with their arms crossed, nodding to one another. I was pretty impressed to see that they don't use spatulas here to flip the meat. The guy was using his bare hands, and all of a sudden I felt all my manliness retreat to a safer place. The food was awesome, they cooked huge goat ribs, some beef slab thing, some pork slab thing, and of course, burgers. Here is my only gripe- the burgers were not...well, big. I know what you are thinking, but let me be honest- if you get a bun which is four inches in diameter, and then you get a burger which is two inches in diameter, you feel like something is missing. You feel like the rest of your burger has been stolen away to the land of missing socks. These were smaller than White Castle sliders..! Again, I wish I would've had a camera so I could capture how...cute these burgers looked (for reference, a burger should never be 'cute'). I'd take it with me more often, but the only easy way to carry it is a belt holder which looks suspiciously like a fanny-pak. I'm not secure enough to feel confident in wearing that.

But back to the BBQ, where we'd all had a couple beers and a dance party began. It started with traditional Tanzanian music from the 60s, which was cool but didn't inspire me to get down. What was interesting to watch was, as the night wore on, our host started putting more and more American-style music on. This caused the Tanzanians to dance less and less, and us to dance more and more. I suppose the turning point of dance-floor supremacy had to be "Dancing Queen" by ABBA, that was when we really took over. To my delight, the next song after that was none other than "Like a Prayer".

I should digress here for a moment and explain my torrid relationship with this song. I don't really know how or when it came up, but for the last year or so of my living in Seattle, "Like a Prayer" became an anthem for a group of us. There were times when I drove through campus singing it at the top of my lungs with the windows down (yes, that was with Ivan, no surprises there). But I suppose it really culminated with the final summer before I came here. That guy Davis who doesn't know the metric system, he and I began singing it as a duet at karaoke nights. No matter how good the person who sang before us was, I have to say that we tended to rock the house. Probably just due to the ridiculousness of it, but thats ok. In fact, just a few weeks ago I wrote Davis saying that I miss the days of Madonna. I've talked about throwing a karaoke party here, and my friends always ask what I'd sing. Obviously, "Like a Prayer" is my answer.

So I imagine our collective surprise when that very song came on. At this point only us white folks and the lady whose party it was were dancing. As soon as the word "God..." came on, everyone turned and looked at me, with expressions like "well, here it is, prove that you love this song." Out of the habits that I never thought would follow me to Tanzania, being ridiculous to "Like a Prayer" was pretty high on the list. How wrong I was. Man, I think I became 'Riverdance' resurrected just to dance for that one song. The Tanzanians were all sitting in a semicircle, so I walked right up to middle, started belting out the words and then when the beat dropped, I got down. They seemed shocked or frightened at first, but at the end, they were all cheering and clapping. I call it the Madonna Effect.

You know the amazing thing? I wasn't even drunk.

I Scored at Nane Nane

So last week, I got my first taste of how Tanzanians do holidays. I mean, Christmas doesn't really count, as people here play Christmas songs year-round and some of its thunder becomes stolen. Plus, a lot of families can't afford presents, its like Christmas is almost an elitist holiday. But last week there was the true national holiday of choice. Its called "Nane Nane", and if you would read a book, you'd see that this means "Eight Eight". Guess which day this holiday lands on? (Hint: Not August the 9th.)

So Nane Nane is also known as "Peasant's Day", which means that its pretty much a come-one-come-all celebration. You know, "for the peasants". In a shockingly unusual display of organization, the local government here in Bukoba set up this awesome festival grounds about a week before the actual holiday. Then, every day until Nane Nane itself there was some form of local entertainment, a lot of drinking and dancing, and the merchants had little booths to sell their special goods. Honestly it felt like a county fair, but without the Gravitron (I hate that thing...does anyone think that it is fun to get yourself so dizzy it takes 3 hours of drinking water and laying in a cool room to feel like you are not still spinning? I think that this is the opposite of fun).

Me and some friends met up a few days before the climax to check it out, and I ended up buying a few things, including possibly the most delicious hot sauce I've ever had. For those of you who have eaten extremely spicy pho, this hot sauce gives all foods that same taste. There were some man-thong type underwear that had the word "mwanaume" written on the band, but the price was a little steep (Mwanaume=Male). After shopping around, we found a little table in the middle of the grounds, and ordered some Kilimanjaro brand beers. To be honest, a large group of white people is always a little out of place in Tanzania. But the six or seven of us camped out in the middle of this local festival, we got more stares than usual. After half an hour or so, these three guys at the next table over called me to come talk to them. They were quite drunk, but were still sufficiently shocked that I knew their tribal language, as well as Swahili. So I chatted with them until I was thirsty enough to return to my table and my beer. A little later, one of the three started walking towards our table. Now what usually occurs at this point is that I am asked to purchase the guy a beer or konyagi (imagine the cheapest gin you've ever had. Now pour the cheapest vodka you've ever had into it. That's konyagi). Seriously, we all get asked to buy drunk guys more liquor all the time, it's become routine. So imagine our collective confusion when he just hands me a 10,000 shilling bill (this is a decent amount of money here; its the largest bill). We were with a Tanzanian girl who kept telling me to "give it back it is probably counterfeit". But the man wouldn't take no for an answer, so overall I actually came up at Nane Nane. I'm still a little weirded out, but nothing bad came of this gift. My guess is the guy was too drunk to remember he gave to me, like when Ivan gets a little tipsy and buys everyone Patron shots. But my good fortune didn't end there, the waitress was super nice to me as well, and I ended up getting a free dinner. This really just means some sticks of meat and a few fried bananas, but it was cool nonetheless.

Sorry I don't have any pictures of the festival itself. Its a little harder to cruise around here with a camera than it is in most developed countries. In general, the amount of unwelcome attention that taking photographs in public places brings usually isn't worth the pictures themselves. Maybe if I get enough demand (Andrew and my parents, really) I will spend a day cruising around Bukoba taking pics of the market and such. Until then, stay in touch.

Blow Your Mind on My Tests

Hey y'all, what's up?
On the way into town, I had some gripe that I was planning on writing about. But now, when I am here at the internet cafe and the pressure is on, I can't remember what it was. Its like stage fright, either form of it...

So instead of griping, I'm going to post the midterm tests which I just administered to my unwitting students. They were pretty hard, the average for my form 6 students was a 42% and for my form 5 students it was a 63%. I'd like to think this difference is because the kids in form 5 have only learned physics from me, and thus avoided contamination. But more likely, the form 6 test was just more difficult. The amazing thing is that one student in form 5 got a 100%..! If you read that test, you will see how impressive a feat this is. Anyway, I have taught my students all the ideas that these exams cover, so any of you that are interested in what physics I've been teaching (probably just Ivan; the rest of you just don't care *boo-hoo-abloobloo*), ch-ch-ch-check it out:

Form 5, page 1
Form 5, page 2

Form 6, page 1
Form 6, page 2

One other thing, if you are an avid reader of my rambles, then you might recall that I asked if anyone knew a good way to get push-reel mowers. Nothing came up right away, but I've kept at it and it looks like we might actually succeed in getting 10 of them. Aaron found some locally, I've written my first grant, and the school has promised its assistance. We'll see if it flies. I'll keep you posted, but if everything works out as planned these students will be spared countless hours of nonsense manual labor. Yes, I know manual labor builds character. I am content in decreasing their character.