Fade to Black

Today I have some good news to drop, but as a warning the last paragraph gets a little heavy.

Let’s start with the crowd-pleaser: the push-reel mower project. For those of you not in the know, Ihungo Secondary and I worked in concert to raise funds to purchase a number of these manually-powered mowers. The raison d’etre was to assist Ihungo students, who currently use blunted hand sickles and bent scythes to mangle the grass to death. The benefits of upgrading are too many to mention, but let me just say that after nearly two years here, I feel the mowers are a necessity for these boys. Ihungo had set the goal of obtaining ten of these push-reel mowers, and together with the school’s minor contribution, we just reached that goal. Two days ago, I went to the mercantile which carries them, and placed our official order for ten of the machines. Here at school, we’ve arranged a meeting time for all the teachers concerned to learn how and where to use them, and how to maintain them properly. When they arrive, I’ll take some pictures to share with you all. Needless to say, my sincere thanks once again to everyone who donated. For real, thanks.

Second and almost as enthusing, yesterday I got a call from the head of our grants committee. She told me that another grant proposal I’d been working on was approved to receive the full funding requested. This proposal basically was the brainchild of an elderly man who lives in a village near me. He’s one of the local leaders, and founded a small organization to try helping those in need around his community. Pretty admirable, yeah? One day I was walking into town down this rural path I really enjoy, and met and impressed this elder with my Swahili. We ended up talking for over an hour, and briefly touched on the idea that we might be able to combine forces. A few weeks later, I invited him over and we discussed different projects his organization was trying to implement around the village. In particular, a plan of chicken rearing intrigued me. Basically, the hope was to build a coop capable of holding some 500 chickens which would be under the care of the organization members. The fantastic part of this plan? Every week, most of the eggs from these chickens will go to the households in the direst need of nutrition and protein- specifically those with orphans, widows, and HIV/AIDS victims. Believe it or not, unless one’s family owns chickens, eggs are almost a luxury in the villages around here. There is more the project than what I’ve detailed here, but you get the point- eggs to help people. I’m particularly proud of this grant for the fact that I did almost nothing in getting off the ground; the organization in general, and the elder in particular, they drove the planning almost entirely, and now their efforts at philanthropy have been rewarded. Again, when the coop gets built, I’ll take some photos (imagine the maelstrom that is 500 chickens in one massive enclosure).

Personally, the chicken project helps to assuage an odd feeling of guilt I’ve been faced with from time to time during my stay here. This guilt is specifically derived from the plight of the numerous orphans around Bukoba, and from my feeling powerless to help them. Just the other day, I had my heart broken again by people’s struggles of life. A few weeks ago, I invited a local man who is HIV-positive to speak to my students about living with the virus, taking anti-retroviral medications, and about the stigmatism. It was a great lesson, and the man stressed the importance of being tested, mentioning that it might be possible to get a mobile testing unit to come to the school (I’m looking into it). The students were so supportive of this idea they gave a round of applause. Flash forward to several days ago, when one of my students approached me after class, asking if he could come to my house to “discuss some issues.” I’ve tried to be more than a teacher to my students, also hoping to fill the nonexistent role of counselor as best as I can. Later that day, he came over and we sat down to talk. He told me that he was an orphan, having lost both his parents by the age of eight. During his ordinary-level secondary school studies, the government had subsidized his school fees, but now that he is an advanced-level student, they have referred him to pursue other sources of funding. That was his first question- if there are any Western organizations which might help him pay for school. Sadly, I went down this road with other students of mine last year, and its all dead ends. For several months, I played the game of being juggled back and forth between various non-profits, all of which claimed to have no jurisdiction over certain areas of the region that my students came from. I was given too many excuses for too real a problem, and I left feeling weak and unable to help these kids. (I know that the organizations don’t have the resources to support every orphan that knocks on their door, and that sometimes con artists come along, but I couldn’t help thinking that everything they told me was bullshit. If I had aspirations towards investigative journalism, here would be where I expose the corruption or bureaucracy clouding up this system; for now, I’ll have to settle with voicing the futility.) This boy came with the same questions, and I had to give him the lame answers I’d been given. I felt like a chump, but what could I do or say? If I support these kids directly, what will they do when I go? No, that reliance isn’t something that should be engendered. But telling this boy that I couldn’t help him or even advise him wasn’t what really hit me. On top of being an orphan, he told me he suspects that he’s HIV-positive, but doesn’t know what to do. Apparently, he thinks that his mother passed away from AIDS, and that he might’ve inherited it. He asked me if I’d arranged for the mobile testing unit to come to the school so that he could get tested. I told him that we are waiting on the headmaster’s approval (I’m pretty sure this sort of this needs a green light from the government), but that there are testing facilities in around town if he doesn’t want to wait. I asked him if he’d like me to escort him to a reputable clinic I know of, one which offers free counseling and support groups. He said yes, so we are going sometime soon. I don’t think I’ll write any updates about this boy here, but just think about his position for a minute. No family members who can support him, the fear of having HIV, I wonder how lonely and hard life must be for him. That’s what hit me hard enough that I sat in a chair for an hour, staring at nothing. What a world, where a bright young boy like this can be in such an impossible situation through no fault of his own. Crap.

Let's take some time to laugh

I noticed that my posts have been getting increasingly serious over the last month, so I figured it would be a good idea to use my jazz hands to create one a bit more light-hearted. In one of my recent posts, I mentioned the “origin of Asian peoples” as understood by my Tanzanian friend. While that might be the most absurd idea I’ve heard (and the funniest; I laughed until I had used up all my “fasting energy,” then I was really tired), it isn’t the only one. Not by a long shot. Here’s some of the funny, bizarre, or ridiculous happenings of my last few weeks-

Let me start with the hilarity that is Tanzanian English. Just as we developed our American English with its profusion of slang and “y’alls”, Tanzanian English has become its own brand of fantastic. Some of the more common sayings include “I say!” (which has even infiltrated into Swahili as is written “aisee”), “somehow” (I will school you all in the proper use of this underrated word when I get back), and a ton of throwbacks to British English, straight from the source (referring to “Z” as zed, for example). Just last weekend, a friend of mine used the following excuse to back out of going to a disco- “I regret to inform you that I cannot attend for the fact that my heart is beating too high. It is because I have exceeded my doctor’s weight limit.” I still don’t know what he was talking about. Beyond the grammar issues, one common struggle that people have in speaking English as an acquired language is the distinction between “L” and “R” sounds. This is the perennial scourge of most Asian cultures (when I was in Japan, I saw one sign for “Best Raundry”) and there’s even a website whose name alone might be enough make you laugh: Engrish.com. This same phenomenon occurs here in T-Zed, just as I saw last week at the town market. Some enterprising soul had begun packaging sorghum flour into small packets, clearly labeled as “Ulezi (Sorghum) Froul”. It took me about five seconds to realize what “froul” is, and then I showed it to Jodi and we busted up, drawing looks from all the froul sellers. What’s really strange about the L/R interchange is that people even apply it to their own names; I have a student who wrote his name as Kafulela on one test, Kafurera on the next, and Kafurela the third time. No one seems to notice this except me. Some of my favorite days in class are those when we discuss anything in “parallel.” Oh yeah, the way they pronounce it is at least as funny as you are imagining.

Tanzanians, socially open as their society is, tend to be hesitant in trying new things as well as pursuing unorthodox lines of thought. You could explain it as a “this is good enough for everyone else, so why shouldn’t it be for me?” rationale. Over the last few weeks though, I’ve had the opportunity to see some friends and acquaintances attempt to be trailblazers, and it is usually hilarious. The first time was at my home, when two friends of mine came over. I have a simple “solar system” text that explains about the planets in some detail and has nice pictures, so I offered it to them to peruse. Some of the questions I got were tremendous. “This book says that one year on Mercury is 88 Earth days. Does that mean if I go to Mercury is will get old really fast?” “If Earth is spinning, why isn’t it windier? And if I jump really high, shouldn’t I end up in Mwanza?” To be honest, I loved getting asked these questions, not because of their hilarity, but because it means these kids are interested in learning, and can draw basic inferences (although the hilarity factor was also good).
A day later I went to Jodi’s place to prepare desserts for a sushi night we were having at Gayle’s place (that’s right, sushi in the middle of Africa; what?). We made a bunch of sweets, including lemon bars, mocha brownies, and those no-bake oatmeal peanut butter chocolate cookies. As we walked towards Gayle’s house, a little boy offered to help us carry the plates. When we reached her road, we gave the boy one of the cookies as thanks. The way he looked at it was timeless- imagine you’ve never seen a cookie before. Some strange foreigners give you one, and it’s weird, lumpy, a little squishy, and brown. Poor kid looked like he’d lost the raffle of life, and been given the worst possible prize. After several minutes being convinced that it was good to eat, the boy finally took the smallest nibble imaginable. Immediately, his eyes lit up, he looked up at us with a sort of awestruck grin, and then he just took off running. Who knows where he ran off to with that cookie..?
When we got to Gayle’s place, we helped out a bit rolling the sushi. (For those of you who are curious, we used canned tuna, canned salmon, and lots of cucumber, avocado, and mayonnaise). Eventually, two of Gayle’s friends from her school showed up, one of whom was the school cook. Apparently she wanted to learn how to make sushi, a fact which still confuses me. Anyway, she made a totally passable salmon roll, and then we all sat down to eat. Gayle’s friends looked so scared to try anything, in particular the wasabi-soy combo. It didn’t help that everyone kept telling them “now be careful this is really, really spicy!” In the end, they both ate about three pieces and said they were full. I ate somewhere in the range of 15, and then bombed on dessert. It saddens me to say this, but I actually ate so much food that when it was time to go, I physically could not finish my beer (its ok, I came back the next morning and laid it to rest). Obviously, I have decided not to fast on weekends. Jodi says this will make me gain weight if I keep fasting during the week. I told her that it’s ok, I need to build up a squirrel-esque winter coat before coming back to chilly North America.

Earlier that day, before heading to Jodi’s to make dessert, I’d been invited to the wedding of Mama Shukuru’s daughter, whose name is Shukuru (that’s how naming works here, it’s gnarly). I almost wanted to go and enjoy the festivities, but I know well how tedious they can be, so I opted to go cook with Jodi instead. However, I wanted to give Shukuru the wedding gift I’d bought, so I swung by the reception early to drop it off, and maybe swipe a few beers. No one was there, and nothing had been set up. I asked around, and they looked at me like I was crazy. “No, there is no wedding reception here today. Try the next hotel.” So I did, and there was a reception there, but for a different wedding. What are the chances? That’s nonsense. So I gave up hope and started walking towards Jodi’s, when off in the distance I heard the cacophony of a mobile wedding procession, car horns a-blarin’. Sure enough, within minutes I caught sight of the substantial caravan, which was heading right for me. As it began to pass me, I noticed some of my friends in the cars, waving and smiling. The third car was the bridal car, and there was Shukuru, wedding gown and all. Her car stopped, and she and I had a full conversation, there on the street. People further back in the caravan started looking to see the hold-up. Great, so much for escaping discreetly. I decided not to give her the present through the car window, that’s tactless yeah? In the end, I told her that I would try to make it, but as they drove off I realized I didn’t know where they were going. So much for getting some free beer…dang.

One last thing- today is my routine day to come into town to use the internet, but at around 9am a massive thunderstorm kicked up. I have a lot I have to do online (graduate school applications, ugh), so I was chagrined, but resolute to come down anyway. When the storm abated just enough, I hopped on my bike and tore down the dirt road and into town. Yeah, it was a dirt road. Yeah, it was soaked and muddy. No, my bike doesn’t have a mud guard. Yeah, it now looks like I might’ve had “an accident” of the non-biking variety. It’s embarrassing. Peace.

Ramadan, no longer in September!

Last weekend, I had an unexpected guest stay with me. No, it wasn’t malaria, a monkey, safari ants, or a time-traveling Isaac Newton. Prior to my arrival, two other volunteers had been stationed at Ihungo- Jessica, the gregarious biology teacher, and Joseph, the “computer wizard.” I keep in occasional contact with Jessica (actually, I tend to forget to write back; sorry, Jess), but Joseph and I had never emailed. That is, until two weeks ago, when he wrote to tell me he was surprised to find himself back in Tanzania, after nearly two years away. He’d planned to pass through Bukoba en route to Kigali, and so I invited him to stay with me here at his former school.
It was both interesting and refreshing spending time with Joe. A lot of the ideas I’ve developed and judgments I’ve made about Ihungo are similar to Joe’s own. Talking with him allowed a certain level of understanding that not even Jodi and I share, her living some five miles away. I found some of my thoughts on life here being reinforced, others put under a new light, and others challenged. All in all, it was fun to see how quickly we could bond. Before he came to stay for three days, we’d never had any discourse at all, and yet the mutual understanding that comes from two people struggling through the same trials enabled us to feel at ease almost immediately. And being able to share the ridiculousness of life here with someone was a great relief. Trust me, there are times when life here is very, very ridiculous, and I have no one to laugh about it with. (Case in point: just last week, one of my students explained to me why Asian people look different than European “wazungu.” His explanation? When the atomic bombs hit, the light was so bright that it caused Asians to have permanently squinty eyes, and the different color is because of the radiation. He even told me that before the bomb, Asians and white Europeans looked the same. How awesomely ridiculous is this? I laughed so hard.)
Another ridiculousness, but one Joe didn’t quite understand, is my new “diet.” Living in a country which is roughly one-third Islamic, I’ve had the opportunity to witness a fair amount of Muslim tradition. One of the Islamic practices that highly impresses me is Ramadan, the month during which Muslims are not allowed to eat or drink anything during the day (from about 6am to 7pm). Think about it- that’s thirteen full hours of fasting, without even water passing one’s lips. I wouldn’t want to be a Muslim during Ramadan anywhere in the Middle East, where the heat would have to make the thirst intolerable. In any case, I decided that I admired this practice enough that I would attempt it myself. Since I’m not Muslim, there was no particular reason for me to wait until September (the month of Ramadan), so I started fasting about two weeks ago. I wake up every day at about 5:30 and cook myself a small breakfast to get me through the day. Usually, it’s two pieces of toast, a small banana, and two eggs. While I eat, I knock back as much water as I can, plus some life-sustaining coffee. Then I go about my daily business until 7:30 at night, when the sun has gone down and I can eat again. For dinner, I have basically the same foods as I had for breakfast, with the exception of an avocado. After roughly thirteen hours of waiting, dinner is always miraculous, but never is it quite enough.
If you are asking yourself “why in the world would he want to do that? He must be insane” then I should tell you that, no, I’m not insane yet. I suppose my reasoning went as follows: “Man, those Muslims really fast for a month. I wonder what that’s like. I wonder if I could do it…” So I decided to give it a shot. Why not at least try? I knew that once I get back to the States, I’ll never want to try this again (thanks to a little restaurant called Jack-in-theBox), so its now-or-never. I’m not attempting to fast out of any masochistic impulses, or to save the orphaned dolphins, or anything like that. I’m only trying it to see if I can do it, and what it’s like. That’s all. So how have the last two weeks been? Long.
The last day before starting “my Ramadan,” I hung out with Jodi and cooked and ate as much as possible. As a consequence, my first day was pretty easy. My body was still working on my stomach’s leftovers. The three following days were agony, pure and simple. I learned two lessons very quickly: first, the thirst is always worse than the hunger; second, my metabolism was still burning along fast enough that my energy was spent by around noon each day. I’ve never been so weary, both mentally and physically. Sure, I’ve exhausted my body during races and work-outs, but this constant and utter lack of energy was a different feeling entirely. It’s hard to run the machine without fueling it. After several days, I thought I finally realized why so many people who can’t afford enough to eat just lay motionless all day long (but I’ve since corrected that impression). For real, I would go to teach and just writing on the chalkboard and speaking would completely exhaust me. Following a lesson, I would come home and lie down on my bed and stare at the ceiling for far too much time (usually I was daydreaming about what foods I would eat as soon as I get home. The favorites: steak, bacon-cheeseburger, sushi, Thai, pale ales, cocktails, salads, berries, Krispy Kreme doughnuts, and so many more). Each time I stood up after sitting for a long time, I would swoon and nearly pass out. The dizziness was killer. On occasion, I would try to play volleyball in the early evenings, hoping to pass the time until I could eat and drink again. While playing, I would only try for balls that came within about two feet of my arms; I might’ve been the laziest volleyball player of all time, if you don’t count Farkas.
Luckily, the first week was the worst. My metabolism has since realized that it was burning me apart, and has slowed down to match my new intake and output levels (which are substantially lower than they used to be). In fact, I’ve only spent maybe an hour daydreaming about food over the last few days. I have more energy in the afternoons now, as my body hasn’t wasted it in the mornings. Today, I played two hours of basketball, and never even felt dizzy. Sure, the thirst and the hunger are still there, especially around my former lunch-time, but at least now they are tolerable and I can push them to the back of my mind. This tells me that even if people don’t eat three squares per day, they can still lead active lives (squashing my earlier theory about lack of energy). The only time over the last week I've been tempted to quit was when I got a package from my mom. It had cookies, chocolate bars, and other candy in it, and I had the misfortune of opening it midmorning. Over the rest of the day, I squirmed with the knowledge that delicious chocolate was just sitting there, waiting to taste great. I managed to stave it off, somehow.
I’m not sure how much longer I plan on maintaining the fast. After only two weeks, my body has burned off so much fat that I’ve been feeling chilly all the time. Plus, the truth is, I love eating. I enjoy trying to cook new and tasty foods. Reducing my diet to bread, eggs, and fruits has taken that joy from me. So I’m not sure…do I keep it up for two more weeks to make my fast last an entire month, or do I give it up now that I’ve seen that I can do it?