I got bored. How long did it take? Well, as of now, I have been in Tanzania for eight months and three weeks… almost exactly. It’s not that I don’t have anything to do… trust me, I have TONS to do, I just don’t want to do it. Yeah, Dad, I’ve already had that conversation in my head… you know the one. The one where I say “I’m bored” and you say “Well, I can find something for you to do!” I have lesson plans and tests to write, quizzes to grade, labs to prepare, cleaning to take care of, and Swahili to learn. Again, though, I just don’t want to do any of it. It’s like homework and chores but it’s all the time without any kind of play break. My days have become routine, the people are the same, the things I see are the same, the things I do are the same... Basically, life has become predictable. This is a drastic change from the eight chaotic months that I have somehow made it through alive (even if that required donating about a pint of blood to the mosquito population and 10 square feet of skin to the dust-bunny community. TMI? Sorry. Did I mention I was still alive?).
This last month I read a couple of books that induced some serious contemplation and meditation. These books, when coupled with copious amounts of time to sit and ponder, are life changing. (I recommend The Alchemist and Eat, Pray, Love to EVERYONE. Seriously. Read them.) One of the lines in The Alchemist that keeps popping into my head is, “When each day is the same as the next, it’s because people fail to recognize the good things that happen in their lives everyday that the sun rises.” Hearing this pulse through my head every time I feel bored reminds me that I have every opportunity for adventure each and every day of my life. As a matter of fact, could it be any easier? I’m living in Africa! Turns out, though, once you’ve settled in somewhere, whether you’re in Pondunk, Kansas or Lindi, Tanzania, a routine is a routine. It’s comfortable and easy but is also typically less than exciting and, for the most part, adrenaline-less. Don’t worry, though, stress decided to stick around and keep me company. I’ve learned something (ok a million things) about myself on this adventure. One of those things is that I love that stress, excitement, and adrenaline and, you know what? I’m currently going through withdrawls. Symptoms include severe boredom, rigorous procrastination that a college student could only dream of, incessant contemplation, and the utter uncertainty of what to do with one’s self on a daily basis. Honestly, I frequently just wander from one room to another but due to the fact that my house consists of about three rooms, this wandering is belittled to mere pacing and I end up just looking, once again, like the crazy white lady with the stupid cat. Kama kawaida. (like usual)
Due to the eight month, chaotic mess I have just lived through, my current baseline for expected unexpectedness is set unbelievably high. So, while my subconscious is gearing up for that exciting thing that life is cooking up, life has decided to throw a real curve ball and send zilch. He’s saying (apparently life is a man) “Alright, time to slow down and settle for a bit, I’m kinda tired right now and you have some work to do.” “Hey, Life! Suck it up and give me something exciting!” Just kidding. I’m fully aware that the slow paced, somewhat monotonous times are just as important as the fast paced, exciting times. Gotta pay your dues, right?
Having said all of this, I think I do a relatively good job of living the day to day and being cognizant of my surroundings. I’ve been known to stop in class mid-lesson to point out a praying mantis the size of my forearm (yes, for real, the size of my forearm). Unfortunately (or fortunately?), my students were more interested in my lesson on classifying 3D objects than the amazing creature chillin’ on the classroom door. “The door is an example of a cuboid, we have the length, widt… WOAH! Do you see this?!” Not a single reaction in the whole room. Really? Dang, tough crowd.
On the other hand, there are things that no longer phase me. When I first got here, I distinctly remember spending hours in the middle of the night standing on a chair in the living room with a flashlight, prodding my rodent-infiltrated-duffel bag with a stick. I spent many nights before and after that lying awake listening to the little critter play, as I was insanely nervous… no, convinced, that my bed was the next destination for her exploration. A couple of days ago, I walked into the kitchen and saw a mouse scurry under my sink. My reaction: a shrug as I grabbed what I needed off the table, turned the light off, and walked back to my room. I chuckled after getting back into bed as I realized how much had changed. Nothin’ freaks this girl out, anymore! Cockroaches included! Ok, ok, spiders are still a little rough (they’re HUGE!) and I haven’t been faced with any indoor snakes yet… I’ll keep you posted.
Things that don’t seem to change: I still love listening to my students sing and I still love a Tanzanian downpour. I love seeing all of the lizards running around my house and the hibiscus flowers that line the road to school. These days, I even love getting up in front of all of my students to teach (this took a little getting used to). This job is teaching me to actually enjoy being in front of people and, when it’s appropriate, making a fool of myself. We all get to laugh but, in the end, I win the greatest prize because I get to watch the light bulb go on when the concept of outer space becomes a real idea instead of just the memorization of eight planet names in the proper order.
Something else that’s been brought to my attention: how much of my education I take for granted. This week, I taught 40, senior-high school level girls that the planets in our solar system orbit the sun. I also taught them why there are 24 hours in a day, thirty-ish days in a month, and 365 days in a year. At the end of the class period, one of my students raised her hand and asked, “How long does it take to get to space?” I was trying to pinpoint why this question stuck out in my head so much and I finally figured it out. Her question was not formed so that she could get a better score on the national exam. It was formed out of genuine curiosity, a first for me in my entire Tanzanian teaching career.
Creativity, individuality, and critical thinking are beat out of these students (quite literally) and rote memorization is forced down their throats (less literally). The head education officer came to visit my school the other day. After pulling all of the teachers out of the classes they were teaching, we were told how to help our students do better (Ironic much?). According to him, we need to make sure that we mark our students’ notebooks frequently. If their handwriting is sloppy or their margins are not done well, write comments to tell them they need to improve. This wouldn’t be so bad if he had mentioned, even once, that we were to check if they were understanding the concepts we were teaching them. He did tell us that students are not to use pens as straight edges, as only a ruler is appropriate for this, or coins as stencils to draw circles, because, duh, compasses! His reasoning: “These are life skills! If we don’t train them to do these things properly, one day one of them might decide they don’t want to wear there socks on their feet and, instead, they will wear their socks on their head!” In America, using a pen as a straight edge would be considered resourceful and, if I remember correctly, my friends and I used to run all over the place with tights on our heads. I’d say we turned out okay (no comments, please, I know what you’re all thinking!) After this lesson on “life skills,” he proceeded to single me out and tell me that English is the most important subject that we teach them. Of course, I’m a girl from America, so I MUST teach English. There’s NO WAY I could be teaching math and physics. Awesome, dude. Compromise my students’ education by taking away their teachers in the middle of the day so that you can tell us that creativity is worthless and then, please proceed to insult me by implying that women couldn’t possibly teach math and physics. I teach at an all-girls’ school, for pete’s sake! What kind of message are you going to send to these students with that attitude? Anyone who knows me knows how much I like this guy right now. Sooooo glad he’s in charge of my district’s education system. NOT!
Anyways, moving on. When I first started thinking about this blog, I wanted to title it “True Love or Real Love” as this was the focus of discussion in the staff room last Thursday afternoon. I’ve always thought of these two things as being equivalent but, apparently, they’re not. Not in Tanzania, at least. Throughout my service, the topics of love and marriage have come up frequently. Sometimes it’s an old man in the village asking me to marry him, sometimes it’s a concierge at a hotel in the city begging me to marry him. Sometimes it’s about divorce and why it happens so often. Or how old Americans are when they decide to get married and why that’s so much later when compared to Tanzanians. What’s the typical age gap between a husband and a wife? What’s better, a family where one parent stays home or a family where no parents stay home? Aside from the marriage proposals, I genuinely enjoy these conversations, as it’s really interesting to compare and contrast our cultures.
Here’s one for you: did you know that in Tanzania, you do not tell anyone you have a girlfriend or boyfriend until you’ve decided to marry them? Essentially, having a boyfriend is having a fiancé. All of the dating before hand is done in secrecy. At least that’s the goal… unfortunately, Tanzania is no different when it comes to gossip. As a matter of fact, it might be worse and most people probably know whether or not you’re dating someone before you do. Anyways, I was talking to my family one day and found out my brother had a girlfriend. When I got off the phone, I told my Tanzanian friend the news. The very first thing out of his mouth was “When’s the wedding?” I just laughed and tried to explain that that’s not quite how it works in America.
So last Thursday, four of us were sitting in the staff room and they were having a discussion in Swahili. I picked up on a few words that got me curious so I asked what they were talking about. They were nice enough to switch into English so that I could understand and then proceeded to ask me if I believed in real love or true love. This confused me so I asked them to give me their definitions. “Real love,” it turns out, is how society defines love, what they expect a husband and wife to look like when they’re together. The socially appropriate behaviors and such. I’m pretty sure they actually learn this definition in school and get tested on it in the national exam. “True love,” on the other hand, is when you actually believe in your head (or heart) that you are in love with someone. From what I understood, this was actually feeling love instead of just following rules. They went around the circle and the men both believed in real love but not true love, or they at least thought that real love was necessary and true love was not. The female teacher said that true love was what was important, not real love. This got me thinking… a lot. Why did the men favor real love while the women favored true love? Is it because the definition of real love in Tanzanian terms puts so much responsibility and work on the woman? Was the reason that the women thought that true love was important because one was an extremely progressive Tanzanian and the other was an American or was it because we fit into the age-old stereotype that connects women to feelings and emotion?
Learning these definitions blew my mind. I never even thought to question the definition of love because, growing up, it was always subjective and undefinable. I was too focused on questioning why someone would think it’s appropriate to not only legitimately propose to a complete stranger, but to also genuinely expect an affirmative answer. It also explains what the concierge meant when he said “only Tanzanians know real love,” as he scraped the bottom of the barrel for reasons as to why I should change my mind about walking down the aisle with him.
This discussion with my fellow teachers had me thinking, literally, for days. It opened up a whole new window to Tanzanian culture as everything here revolves around marriage. It also helped me to understand some of my friends a little better.
One more thing… how does this translate to America? Does it? I doubt we would put it into the same words but I’m sure there are plenty of marriages that fall into the category of “real love” but not “true love.”
Food for thought, I suppose – appropriate for the blog following February, “the month of love.” Maybe this month I’ll see some leprechauns or find a pot of gold!
Happy March!!
