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.