About face in this place

When I first arrived here, my head was full of anticipation of what I would find, how I would change my behavior patterns to adapt to those things, and how I would ultimately undergo changes myself. In my head, the aphorism “life is what you make of it” resounded. I sincerely believed that, with the right attitude, it is possible for a person to transform any situation, no matter how alien or discomfiting, into both an enjoyable and educational experience. True enough, within my own group of trainees I witnessed examples of this idea’s veracity on both ends of the spectrum- those volunteers who managed to maintain an optimistic and gregarious manner kept themselves in pleasant circumstances; those who continually found fault with their surroundings sooner or later also found their early tickets home.

After some sixteen months here at Ihungo, I took a step back to reevaluate my own situation. Sadly, I came to realize that my initial beliefs were not quite accurate; once again, theory and practice were disparate. What prompted my reflections was my increasingly common habit of daydreaming about returning home, which led to me counting the time, the months, weeks, and days I have remaining. At some point, I realized that this desire must be due to me feeling incongruous with my environment, feeling like the odd man out and wanting to get back to a life where I could blend in again. But why should I have felt this way? I’d spent almost a year and a half with my neighbors, students, and fellow teachers, but the bonds one tends to share with such people were strangely missing. I came with high hopes, trying to make my situation as positive as I could. Somewhere along the line, I’d lost track. In honesty, I had only one or two people, outside of my fellow volunteers, that I could confide in and share my experiences with. On the phone with Kit one day, I told her I’d decided this isn’t how it has to be, and this isn’t how I want to leave Tanzania in seven months. Briefly, you could say the result of my appraisal is that I’ve gotten a second wind, and I’m trying to re-integrate with all those people I’ve taken for granted since my arrival.

The first, largest, and most obvious step was to reconnect with the faculty and staff of Ihungo. In retrospect, I believe that I’d written most of them off due to two factors- generally poor work ethic and a willingness (perhaps even an eagerness) to inflict corporal punishment. As hard as it is to admit culture differences sometimes, I now can admit that my judgments against those teachers were premature and perhaps unfair. I still disagree with both practices, but my differing opinions don’t make me an authority. So I opened myself back up to my coworkers, spending more time with them in the staff room and at their homes. In the last few months, we’ve established a stronger rapport than we’d had over the entire past year. The most significant action I’ve enjoined is weekly visits to my headmaster’s house, where he and I discuss the school, life, and whatever comes to mind for several hours while he plies me with beer. Each visit culminates with a feast of Haya foods that Mama George (the headmaster’s wife) always apologizes for despite its magnitude. I can’t seem to convince her that my bachelor cooking holds no candle to what she serves. Maybe if I invite them to sample my typical dinner, she’ll get the point.

The major change that I’ve noticed is that I am slowly becoming a more respected voice on campus, both by teachers and by students. When I ventured an opinion in a staff meeting last year, my “crazy white man” ideas tended to be dismissed. The other day we held a computer board meeting which they’d asked me to audit, despite my status as a non-member. When I informed them early on in the meeting that I had to leave and attend a prior engagement, they made a flattering ado, complaining that with my departure no more good ideas would be presented. It was a validating moment, helping me to see that I am becoming valued here. The difference an open mind and some effort can make...

Last weekend was the first time in months where my schedule was full with activities outside my home. Friday night, I was invited to a birthday party for the girlfriend of a local businessman. I enjoyed myself a little more than was warranted, as his business happens to be with the Tanzanian Distilleries Corporation and his stock of liquor was mind-boggling. By the time the party got underway, I’d had a few and they decided that I should be the MC for the night. Without any specific details, it was ridiculous. The next day, a fellow teacher had invited me to attend a ceremony in the village in which a husband-to-be presents his fiancée’s family with their bride price. Those of us teachers who went were in effect the fiancé’s support contingent and I’m pretty sure I was invited to be a status symbol for him. “Look, we are totally serious about this guy marrying your daughter. We even brought a white guy to prove it. Look, there he is. He’s pretty white, huh?” The ceremony was the most traditional event I’ve had the opportunity to attend here, rigid formality held sway throughout the duration. I caused a titter when it was the men’s turn to thank the bride-to-be’s family, and I properly followed suit by getting on my knees and saying a florid Kihaya “thank you” to each person in the room. Actually, the laughs were probably because I messed up somehow, but I felt proud to take part regardless. My favorite part of the day was the bus ride to and from the village, during which all the women on the bus sang beautiful traditional harmonies for two hours each way. Gazing out the window at the gorgeous scenery to the cadence of these melodic songs was a fine way to spend a Saturday. Sunday, I received a visitor who I’ve run into so many times in town, it was becoming embarrassing. It was akin to the office coworker you see in the hallway everyday, always giving the head nod and a “hey,” feeling awkward each time. She had attended her secondary school studies in England, so we had an easy conversation about relative differences and such. The bonus was that she had also been a pupil of my neighbors, so we had a chance to give them a surprise visit and socialize for awhile. It was only the second time I’d set foot inside their house, and they gave me a good-natured drubbing (yeah, I said it) about only coming over when escorting other guests. Guess they had a point, and I’ll try to remedy that.

Rereading that last paragraph, I feel like I’ve missed the point a bit. I’ll leave it as it stands, but I was more trying to explain the difference that my attempts at becoming involved have made. In the past, I would have entire months without so much as visiting a single person at Ihungo, and entire weeks where I would avoid the office. (No, I wouldn’t shirk work, I’d just go directly from home to class and then back). I can see with the effort that I am putting forth, my views are beginning to change once again. Hopefully now, I won’t have to leave Tanzania with any regrets or a bad taste in my mouth.

Bonus Bonus Bonus: If anyone is interested in having a Tanzanian pen-pal, there is a form four student who has been bugging me for the last few months about wanting an "American friend to write with." Her name is Henrietta Henry (her dad's name is Henry, and since he had a daughter and couldn't name her Henry as well, he went with the next best thing, Henrietta) and she's an intelligent, devoted student. If you wanna help out and make a friend, toss me an email. No Shawn Safavis need apply.