Some thoughts on leaving

Two months. That’s pretty much all that I’ve had on my mind lately- how close I am to coming home. Over the last few weeks, Jodi and I have gone to two school graduation ceremonies (this is a bit of masochism, seeing that they tend to be six hours of bad speeches and kids trying to emulate Akon or Beyonce) and each time I found myself daydreaming about coming to America. No, not the Eddie Murphy movie, although I can dig it. Maybe I should move to Queens..? With such a short amount of time left, I feel like I’m almost in two places at once: my heart and mind are eating pizza with Andrew, while my body is still taking cold bucket showers. I try to remind myself of the aspects of life here that I’ll miss upon my return, but I find it hard not to take everything for granted when I stand on the precipice of such a drastic life change. It was the same before I left the States, I focused solely where I was going and not on what I was leaving behind. Perhaps that makes it easier to leave?

One part of my life here that I’m sure to miss is my site mate- Jodi. She teaches ordinary level (the first four years of secondary school; I teach the advanced levels which follow these), and her school term will end shortly. This means she’ll be able to head home a month prior to me, as I’ll still be in session. Jodi and I have been together since day one- we were in the same training group in Morogoro, and then we were stationed together here in Bukoba. Despite Andrew’s occasional idiosyncrasies, I’ve never known what it would be like to have a sister. I suppose I think of Jodi as I would a sister; she’s been my rock for a lot during these past few years. During the hard times, it was great knowing she was in my corner. We’ve developed all sorts of routines to make Bukoba feel like home: spicy Indian food on Tuesdays, playing cribbage on the beach, trying to ride our bikes up our respective hills. Knowing that she heads out in a few weeks is a bittersweet thought- I’m excited for both of us to be back among family and friends, but the bonds which are fostered through adversity tend to be the strongest ones (a lesson I learned by watching Vin Diesel movies) and I’ll miss my sis.

When I was asked what I’ll remember about Tanzania during that conference a few months ago, I immediately thought of my students. Even if I have profound, fundamental issues with the system of education here, even if I never truly adapted to my role as a teacher, even if I can’t stand them at times, I know how much I will miss my boys. Its ironic, but now that I’m on the cusp on leaving, I’ve begun to impart as much of my knowledge as I possibly can to them. Yesterday in class, they were complaining about an poorly made administrative decision (in their eyes, of course), and I spent half of my lesson making an impromptu speech about how they have every right to stand up for what they see as right. Since I’m not prone to being long-winded (excepting this blog, naturally), my students actually listened. They nodded, they smiled, and maybe they felt inspired. Or maybe it was that empty smile that they do when I ask them if they understand about how the terminals of an operational amplifier act as a differential input. “Sure, Mr. Masanja, we understand completely…*cough cough*” I’ve said it before, but the students at this school, and probably country-wide, really get the short end of the stick. If nothing else, I want to leave them feeling proud of themselves for how far they’ve come. I guess that means more Mr. Masanja diatribes are soon to be delivered.

By the way, one thing I know I’ll miss about my students, and about most Tanzanians, is how mellow they can be. Granted, at times the laissez-faire attitude can be frustrating as hell, but sometimes it was their saving grace. Picture this: I’m in front of the class teaching, and it’s a rainy day. There is a hole in the corner of the roof that’s leaking, and my boys are all shivering from the brisk wind coming through the broken windows. All of a sudden BAM! out of the hole comes a bat. I’ve never had any problem with bats, but many people do (especially Americans, probably thanks to legends inspired by Bram Stoker). I wasn’t sure how my students would react to this disease-bomb swooping over their heads. When I paused the lesson to see what they would do, they looked at me like “why are you stopping, is it too cold to teach or something?” They had hardly noticed the bat. I chuckled to myself and continued lecturing as the bat kept swooping and they kept taking notes. Imagine what reaction this would inspire in an American high school. I can picture the screams, mainly coming from the teacher… What a difference! The bat made several repeat appearances, and I thought about adding him to the attendance roster. Anyway, its this mellowness that I tend to take for granted. I know there are other parts to life here that I don’t appreciate as much as I ought to, and I’ll try to enjoy life here as much as I can for the next two months. But good grief, I’m so damn excited to have a cheeseburger and a porter.

Update: after writing this, I was going around town and had an opportunity to be reminded of what I'm not going to miss. I was just walking, minding my own business and a man came up to me. Somehow he knew I am teaching at Ihungo, and since he teaches at a nearby school, we are best friends. Now, since I'm white, he assumed I would give him money for his hospital bills. Of course he'll pay it back tomorrow, being my best friend and all. And when I said "no, sorry" the fifth time, he got pissed and told me how he is a good Christian and I'm going to hell. Yeeeeesh...not gonna miss that at all.

At Long Last...!

Well, it finally happened. Push-reel mowers are now in action at Ihungo Secondary! It took more than six months of planning, fund-raising, and hoop jumping, but at long last, this project has reached an end. The Ihungo students now have ten new push mowers they can use to maintain our expansive grounds. We are giving them names of animals found in Tanzania: Simba (lion), Tembo (elephant), Twiga (giraffe), Kifaro (rhino), Naegeli (dogg), and so on.

Once more, let me extend a profound thanks to everyone who helped us out on this. I gave a "big speech" to the boys before presenting the mowers to them, in which I explained where the funding came from. I wish you all could have been here to hear their cheers and whoops of appreciation.

Look on the pictures page to see some pictures of the mowers that I've taken over the last few days.

Two Hundred Roads Diverged...

Before my volunteer training group came to Tanzania, we were asked to name reasons why we chose to sign up. Some people came for the altruism, some as a career move, but a surprising number claimed that they’d signed up in order to have two more years to figure out what they wanted to do with their lives. Its interesting, the decisions we make based on the fact that we have nothing better to do (this was my rationale for co-inventing drinking Scrabble in college). While hangovers only last a day, or two at the worst, a Peace Corps contract lasts twenty-seven long months. It’s not really one of those “nothing better to do” type of choices, and yet so many of us found that to be our primary reason for volunteering. Ironically, while the past two years that we’ve been here have helped us to grow as people, they have not helped us decide what direction we choose for our lives.

Case in point: my graduate school application process. Over the last six months or so, I have spent a horrid amount of time on Bukoba’s lethargic internet researching viable options for pursuing a master’s degree. Initially I opted away from physics, remembering the grueling late-night study sessions with Ivan; physics made me want to cry. At some point, I found that Peace Corps offers fellowships opportunities with a number of universities. The only problem is that each university has its own specific degree program to be followed in conjunction with the fellowship; I had my choice from education to engineering to public service management. While variety is the spice of life, what I found during my time poring over these programs is that they were too diverse and too many. I couldn’t choose. I’m not sure I joined Peace Corps to “find myself” or to put off deciding what path my life should take, but as I neared the end of my tenure, I realized that the path in front of me is still hazy. The programs which appealed to me included political science, urban studies, international studies, and international business. It took me two months to narrow down my choices to a top five.

Then a friend clued me in to a fellowship program offered through the National Science Foundation which offers unbeatable benefits and a chance to study cutting edge technology. For example, nanotechnology has held my interest since I was in my early teens and read sci-fi stories about its possibilities. Through this NSF program, I could try to manifest those inchoate dreams into a semblance of reality. Again, there were numerous schools and programs which I had to spend weeks sifting through. By this point, I’d used about four months researching all these graduate school options, and I was pretty burnt out. Trust me, trying to find all the logistical information for these programs with limited internet access and time was an unmitigated frustration. Whenever I see tourists in the internet cafés here, I try to guess how many minutes it will take before they begin complaining of the sluggishness of our networks. The average is around five minutes. At least I had some ten schools that I planned on applying to. Now here is the true indicator that I have no idea what I really want to do- the programs I plan to apply towards are remarkably disparate. In my final listing, I have an international business school, an advanced physics laboratory with emphasis on terahertz technology, several political science choices, and a program through MIT that focuses on integrating emerging technologies. Yikes.

Oddly enough, I’ve found myself drawn more and more towards the business school option. My closest high school friends were incredulous and stunned when I told them I’d joined a fraternity. I’d imagine most people who know me will be just as flabbergasted by this new propensity of mine. Why business school? To be honest, I suppose the main reason would be to ensure that I’ll be able to support a family when I need to. I once asked my longtime roommate and great friend Nate Fisher what he thought were some of my character flaws (long story…). His first answer was that I am too prone towards wanderlust. I know that about myself, and I know that at some point I will have to choose between my desire to inveterately jump from one job to another, one country to another, and the demands of raising children. When the time comes that I settle down, I don’t want to be in a position where I am unable to provide for my family due to my past choices. Hence, business school. To be honest, I’m eager to try my hand at business, economics, and management.

With this in mind, last weekend I went to Kampala to take my GMAT, the test required for admissions into business school. For those of you planning to take the GMAT, study hard; it was one of the hardest tests I’ve taken in a long time, much more so than the GRE. Fortunately, ever since those Iowa Tests of Basic Skills which we had to take back in elementary school to prove that the American education system works, I’ve had an uncanny ability to do well on standardized tests. The GMAT was no exception, and my score was in the 99th percentile. This means that I should be able to get some scholarship offers! Or at least, my high GMAT score will offset my low GPA (thanks a lot, fraternity). As soon as I got my results, I went to a fancy Indian restaurant where I drank cold beer and ate palak korma (that’s Hindi for “bombastic creamy spinach creation”) in celebration.

I’m still planning on applying to some of the other programs I mentioned, but at this point it looks like business school is in my cards. My hope is to be accepted to an international MBA program so I can combine my inclination towards travel with such a useful degree. Wish me luck in admissions huh…?

One last thing…while I was in Kampala, I found a Mexican restaurant. Jodi and I made fish tacos once, and I’ve created some sort of burritos, but I haven’t had true Mexican food in a long time, and I miss it. The restaurant was called “Fat Boyz,” how great is that? Fajitas were on the menu, and I was getting pumped up to have some legitimate delicious food. When I ordered, the waiter looked at me for a while, then looked at the menu, then back at me. After a full minute or so, the light turned on and he said, “Oh you are wanting the chicken fajitas then!” However, I had pronounced “fajita” as fa-hee-ta. The waiter said fa-jite-uh. As soon as he spoke, my hopes for deliciousness began to ebb. When the food came, he proudly announced the arrival of my fa-jite-uhs. At this point, I tried explaining that in Spanish the “j” is pronounced more like an “h”, to which he responded, “This is a Mexican food called fa-jite-uh. In English, it is called The Sizzler.” Wow, awesome. The next time you go to a Mexican food joint, try ordering The Sizzler and see what happens. If you get slapped, blame it on the guy in Kampala.