Priscilla Had Babies… and Then Stole My Spatula

 

Priscilla is the name I gave to the mouse living in my kitchen (Penny, her best bud, has taken up residence in my guest room).  Without my permission, Priscilla decided it would be okay to have six babies and continue living under the sink rent free.  Two of those babies have since drowned in buckets of water. I guess the fact that I didn’t try to save them made Priscilla angry because not long after, she took off with my only spatula.  I’m not kidding.  On many occasions, I have woken up to find that the spatula I left on the stove the night before had been dragged across my kitchen.  On this occasion, I woke up and it was just gone.  I have been looking everywhere for it for the last week and it’s nowhere to be found.   

In addition to Priscilla’s babies and party guests, other critters have started showing up again.  I saw my first monster cockroach of the season today.  This means two things: one, monster spiders are right around the corner (they eat monster cockroaches), and two, it’s starting to get hot again.  When it starts to get hot again, it means that cashew season is coming and my skin, eyes, and throat have made it very clear in the past that I am, in fact, allergic to cashew oil.  Cashews are one of the biggest crops in this area and the harvesting process is actually pretty cool to see, even to a victim of its torture such as myself.  First they collect all of the cashews from the trees (ok, ok, duh).  The actual nut that you eat is protected by a hard shell and biting into this hard shell induces an allergic reaction for everyone, not just me (I have a friend you can ask if you don't believe me).  The best way to remove the nut from the shell: fire.  During cashew season, when you walk around the village, you can see Tanzanians standing next to enormous pots with fire blazing out of the top.  It looks awesome and even better, everything smells like cashews.  After the cashews have been blazed, they’re dumped on the ground and the hard shells are broken off.   Voila! Delicious cashews ready for you to peel and enjoy.  Little kids walk around the market selling them on big pizza-pan looking plates.  They’re all separated into little handfuls and sold for next to nothing.  If you don’t feel like buying any, just wait, someone will probably just give them to you.  It’s a pretty sweet deal and I took full advantage when I got here.  Then I broke out in hives and have had to abstain ever since.  I’ll tell ya, it’s been rough because I love cashews.  Did you know that cashews are in the same plant family as poison oak and poison ivy?  Cashews... no not cashews, cashew oil causes me the same problems that the oil from poison oak does.  When cashews are being roasted, there’s no way around breathing in said oil because it rises into the air and its everywhere.  This, of course, means that there is no way for me to avoid my allergic reaction and therefore also means that this year’s cashew season is my cue to leave.  You know, just in case the unbearable heat, mice babies, and monster insects didn’t do it for me.

On September 15^th, I will leave this house and go to the city to sign paperwork and get told I haven’t contracted any terminal illnesses (I hope).  As of September 20^th, I will officially close the book on my Peace Corps service and I will be on to my next adventure.  Needless to say, this will be a bittersweet event for me.  There are people here that I feel like I should be able to know for the rest of my life.  Somewhere along the lines, my Tanzanian friends became just my friends and I talk to them about a lot of the same things that I would talk about with my friends from home.  I’m really sad that leaving here very likely means leaving these friends for good.  No more random dinners or watching movies or talking about the future or even bonding over the fact that we don’t like our supervisor.  See, sounds a lot like America, huh? These are friends that I have interacted with and lived next to every day for two whole years.  That’s a long time considering all the places I have, and will, live in this decade.

While saying goodbye to these school friends will be rough, I have been aware all along that the parting was coming.  The realization that blindsided me the other day, though, was the fact that I would be leaving the people in the marketplace as well (Duh, right?).  Two or three times per week, I go to the market and I always hit the same stands.  First I visit my banana guy, then my onion/garlic/green pepper people, followed by my egg guy, and then my tomato guy.  After that, I just walk around so that I can say hi to the old man that is always sleeping at his rice table and the group of old men sitting at the chai tables doing nothing.  On days when I don’t feel like cooking, I always go get rice and beans from Mwanahamisi and on my way there I greet the man who sews my dresses and the guy that sells me phone credit.  On my way home, I stop at another stand to buy water and sandwich cookies, and the sandwich cookie boy always gives me an extra package for free.  With my friends at the school, I know I will be able to interact with them through email because they know how to use it.  The Tanzanians in the market, though, have never even heard of the internet and many of them never had the opportunity to learn how to read or write.  That means that when I say goodbye to the people in the market, I am really saying goodbye and that will be the end.  Done. No more interaction.  That realization was like a punch in the gut..especially since I didn’t think about it until I saw my egg guy’s face when I told him I was leaving.  So now I am trying to prepare my heart for some serious hurt. 

I did, however, say that my leaving would be bittersweet.  The downside is saying goodbye to some insanely wonderful people.  The upside is that I am being met on the other side by some more wonderful people and between leaving and arriving I have some awesome travel plans with even more wonderful people.  Man, I love my life.  On October 2^nd, I will leave Tanzania and begin my trek back to the US.  My first stop is South Africa where I will meet up with a friend from Michigan Tech who is finishing her Peace Corps service right around the same time as me.  We will stay in South Africa for a night and then begin our 30+ hour journey to Paraguay.  We’ll spend a week there with another of our Peace Corps friends before heading to Panama via a long layover in Peru for lunch.  We’re going to get to Panama just in time for the World Cup Qualifier between USA and Panama and we will be there just long enough for the Festival of the Black Christ (look it up, it’s going to be awesome!).  We have a friend finishing her Peace Corps service in Panama while we’re there so she is going to come with us afterwards to Costa Rica and then on to the Dominican Republic.  Three blondes taking on the tropics.  Sounds fun, right?  The Dominican Republic will be my last stop abroad before I touch down stateside.

As you can see, I have plenty to look forward to once I finish my Peace Corps service.  Exciting travel plans and then my amazing family ready for me once I get home.  I can’t wait to give them all hugs.  I am so incredibly grateful for all of the wonderful opportunities, hard lessons, fantastic memories, and amazing people this experience has brought to my life.  My time here has definitely shaped me as a person and I know it will have an enormous affect on what I do and who I become in the future. Tanzania and the friends I have met here will always have a place in my heart and I will miss them dearly but all good things must come to an end, right? It is finally time for me to be home again.  Ready or not, here I come!

“Fat People Are Hard to Kidnap”

That was the bumper sticker on the semi-truck my bus tried to run off the road… five minutes after it actually DID run a motorcycle off the road.  So, while everyone else was up in arms and yelling at the bus driver about how horribly he was driving, I was laughing my head off knowing that the person who put the sticker where it was had no idea what it meant.  The poor lady next to me thinking she was about to die probably thought I was laughing at her.  Oops.  For better or for worse, there’s never a dull moment when you’re traveling in Tanzania.

I was thankful for that bit of comedic relief as it was near the end of a 14 hour travel day on dusty, uncomfortable buses and I was ready to be settled in at my destination.  I had spent the prior week up north visiting with a couple of good friends and I was headed to Morogoro to spend some time with the homestay family that I lived with when I arrived in Tanzania two years ago.  I had originally planned to just stay for a day and then come back to site but when I arrived, I felt so much love from them that I couldn’t help but extend my stay.  They have told me multiple times over the last couple of years that “This is your home in Tanzania,” but it wasn’t until this visit that I actually believed them.  I knew all of the routines of the house so I slipped seamlessly back into the household and they went about their normal routine just slipping me right back in as well.  I never once felt like a guest and it was absolutely amazing.  It was like socializing with my family in the states.  When there are things to do together, we do them together and when there are things we need to do on our own, we do them on our own.  Never once did I question their love or acceptance of me, even when no one was around, and that was absolutely wonderful.  The only time I had to check myself was when I prepared to eat my ugali (a thick porridge) with my hand like people do in the village and they started eating theirs with their silverware.   This would be the equivalent of me going to a fancy dinner and eating my salad with the soup spoon.  It wouldn't be the end of the world but it would have been a little embarrassing.  Side note: I would NEVER confuse my silverware at a fancy dinner. My grandmother has taught me well.  Anyways, my decision to stay a few extra days allowed me to really visit with everyone and goof around with my kaka (brother) and dada (sister).  When I left, I was both sad and grateful.  Sad that it was probably the last time I would see them but grateful to have been given such a wonderful second family in the first place.

Since then I have been back at my house.  I thought I would continue teaching as my Form 4 girls were required to stay at the school during the semester break but when I got to school ready to teach, I found that the structure I left when I began to travel had fallen to the wayside and everyone was about to start testing.  This meant that there was nothing for me to do at the school so I have been spending time at my house reading books, battling it out with the mice (as usual), and trying to figure out what I’m doing with my life.   Here's the run down:

Things I Know:

-I will be in Mtwara for the 4^th of July

-I have 80 days left until the end of my service

-I will be on a plane leaving from Dar near the beginning of October

-I will be back in Houghton in January

Things I don’t know:

-Where that plane out of Dar will be going

-What I will be doing between Dar and arriving in the states

-Where in the states I will be arriving

-What I will be doing once I arrive in the states

-How I am going to get to Houghton in January

So, logically, I’m going nuts reading about the things I want to do when I finish my Masters degree.  You know, the one I will finish in a YEAR.  I don’t know what I will be doing in 3 months but here I am trying to nail down what I will be doing a year from now.  You can see how this might lead to a little turmoil.  Ok, let's be real... I've been on the verge of a mental breakdown.

So what I decided I need to work on is trusting that it will all work out.  For now I want to just be here in the moment, focusing on spending time with the Tanzanians around me that I love and laughing at the funny things and crazy people I won’t be able to enjoy back in the states. Things like seeing bumper stickers that say “Fat people are hard to kidnap,” and people like the guard outside my house yelling at the goat across the field yesterday:

Goat: Baaaaa

Guard: Baa mwenyewe! (Baa yourself!)

Goat Baaaaa

Guard: Baa mwenyewe!

I think you see where this is going…

I’m excited to get my students back after this break is over.  They are where my heart is right now and I have really missed them these last few weeks.  On those days when I feel like I am banging my head against the wall and wondering why I am here instead of home with my family and friends, they remind me of why with their laughter and bright, smiley faces.  I guess I could use a reminder about now.  If only I could somehow bottle up that beautiful reminder and take it with me when I go.

Just When I Thought Nothing Could Surprise Me…

1 - I come to school to hear that there was someone on campus in the middle of the night so they locked him in one of the classrooms to wait for the police to come.  Classrooms here are in cement buildings and the windows do not have glass on them, just bars.  Watching all the students look through the bars at the spectacle inside and realizing the similarity between my school and a zoo just made me laugh.  Attractions locked in cages, monkeys swinging in trees, exotic birds over yonder, and, well, the entire place is an insect exhibit.  Karibu. No charge.

2 -  After asking a couple of teachers about why students eat paper, I find out that they also frequently eat dirt, chalk, and even charcoal if it’s available.  As my mouth dropped further and further, one of the teachers informed me that even she likes to eat dirt sometimes.  My next question was “so you just go outside and pick dirt up and eat it?”  This apparently was hilarious and preposterous.  OF COURSE she doesn’t eat it off the ground.  She goes to the market and buys it.  Only 100 shillings!  She said she’d show me someday.  I’ll let you know…

3 –  I get an unexpected response to the fact that I am leaving.  Frequently the response from my students when I inform them I am leaving is a concern about who will make their cake for graduation.  This shockingly always makes me laugh and is the exact  response I would expect from them.  One day, though, I was talking with one of my Form 3 girls and it came up that I would be leaving soon.  I was ready for the “But madaaaaaaam, who will make us cake for graduation?” but instead what I got was “But madaaaaaaam, who will we laugh with when you leave?”  Of everything I have heard in the last two years, this is my most favorite and most memorable of them all.  It's small but it's pretty great, right?  I think so.

Success

I think I can finally say I’m on the downhill slide of my adventure here in Tanzania.  I still have a little more than five months left but when you start taking away weeks and months for breaks, meetings, and required conferences, the number of actual living-teaching-working days becomes a number that deceivingly makes me feel like I am leaving tomorrow.  While I feel like I am coasting to the end of my time here, I spent my first month back being kicked in the gut by Tanzania.  I guess she felt she needed to reinitiate me with some new lessons and then give me a quiz to make sure I remembered the old ones.  Man, I really am a teacher right now, aren’t I? Lesson and quiz metaphors?  Where did that come from? 

New lessons included the following:    

•  I do not NEED my laptop (thank you electric company for the power surge that led to this revelation)

• There are centipedes here.  Scary ones. (Upon this realization, I immediately heard a “That’s why we wear shoes around here.”  I know a few of you will appreciate that)

•  I am now fully capable of sitting for hours on end with nothing to do but think (good thing or bad thing?)

Old lessons relearned included the following:   

• Mosquitos like me… a lot.

• Rats like to live with me… a lot.

• There are things I can control and things I cannot control… a lot.  

Ok, scratch that last ‘a lot.’  It doesn’t make sense.  This list, while completely true, is me being funny (minus that last one).  I have learned a lot of valuable lessons, even in the short amount of time I have been back and I’m sure I will continue to do so all the way up to the end.  That last thing, though, has truly been huge for me in the last couple of months. What’s that prayer?  “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”  That’s what I hear tonight as I write this and think about everything that has happened since I got back from my visit home.  Those three traits are what I have unintentionally, and painfully, been improving upon.

My increasing ability to decipher between controllable and uncontrollable things in my life has been directly correlated to my happiness here (let me tell you, that first month back was crazy rough).  The biggest thing it has allowed me to do, though, is let go of guilt.  Guilt I have felt for years for not being able to do more to help those around me and for having a life of privilege and opportunity that I have done nothing to deserve. Letting go of this guilt has not meant, and does not mean, that I no longer believe in volunteer work.  I actually feel more passionate about it than ever before and plan on making it a permanent part of my life for as long as possible.  What letting go of that guilt has done is allow me to stop thinking about EVERYTHING that needs to happen to help and focus on a few places where I can truly have an impact.  This means that instead of being paralyzed as I watch all of the problems float around my head, I can focus on one (or a few) thing and actually do something about it.  For now, that focus is math education. 

Even though I have spent my entire life telling my family that I would never be a teacher, I strongly believe that education is fundamental.  Everyone should have an education and everyone deserves one.  That sounds like I think everyone should go to school K-12, followed by college, and all that conventional stuff that our society has drilled into us as being the only way to be successful.  I don’t believe that.  I just believe that education, any kind of education, is only going to improve someone’s life.  It gives them a tool that no one can take away and is usable at all the expected times along with some of the most unexpected ones as well.  Feeling as strongly as I do about this, I felt education was a good placement for me (shhh, don’t tell my Dad).  Because it is work I truly believe in, I felt it was the place where I would have the best chance of having a positive impact (even if I completely dreaded actually teaching in front of a class).  At this point in my service, almost 2 years in, it’s full steam ahead with no distractions.  However, this is not how it has been the whole time I have been here.  Looking back on it now, I regret allowing the encouragement from Peace Corps to turn into pressure to do secondary projects and then letting it compound with the pressure (guilt-trip) from some of the staff at my school to bring in something of monetary value.  I spent a lot of wasted energy fretting about what I “should” do when in my heart I felt the best thing to do was to just teach and build relationships with my students. Unlike education, I do not believe in handouts that are masked as projects, at least not without the proper support, and that’s what these projects often turn into here.  In an effort to stay off my soap box, though, I’ll stop there.

So, what are the fruits of my labor thus far?  Like many Peace Corps Volunteers, I came in with insanely high expectations of what I could do and how much I could help.  At the time I didn’t realize how high they were but this experience humbles you and throughout your service, little by little, you analyze and establish new, more realistic goals.  Will my students pass the national exam at the end of the year?  Maybe a few of them… but not because of me.  All I will have done for those students is given them a little extra push.  Most of my students probably won’t pass the math test and that’s a dream I had to let go of a long time ago.  This is not because my students are not capable.  These girls are full of potential and I just wish they could have received proper teaching from the beginning.  With a good math foundation, who knows where these girls would be or how far they could get.  They would have blown that test out of the water and been able to tell the test writers about each and every one of the 5 million mistakes the writers made while writing the test.  When you combine the lack of a good math foundation, though, with a test full of typos, tricks, and poor wording in a language the students barely understand and then follow that up with grading that gets done by overworked Tanzanians that do not understand how to do the math they are marking, you realize how many cards are stacked against your students.  What I decided to focus on instead was teaching math in a way that they can understand, showing them that they are all capable of doing it, and hoping a few of them leave liking it and feeling a little bit more empowered than they did when I arrived.  

When you stop looking to test scores to define your success, you get to start defining it yourself.  I now get to say that success includes instances like a student coming to tell you she’s starting to like math, students begging you to teach them a particularly difficult topic, and days when you spend all of your free time answering the questions of students doing extra math problems for practice.

One of my most memorable/feel-good moments in the classroom so far this year was one day when my students were taking a quiz.  In the Tanzanian education system, in order to get the highest mark on your national exam, you have to pass math.  However, because it is so difficult for everyone, many students pass it up to study more for their other subjects in hopes that they will get the second highest score.  When I first arrived, administering a math quiz resulted in many, if not most (or all), students cheating.  I would watch, powerlessly, as everyone looked at the paper of the person next to them without even trying to answer the questions given because they had no idea where to even begin.  What’s even worse, they didn’t even care about knowing where to begin.  They just wanted to get through it and be done.  This year, as I looked out at my students taking a math quiz, I saw every single student looking between the board and their paper and I watched the wheels turn as they thought about how to answer each of the questions.  There was no cheating (at least not blatantly) and they understood well enough not only to try, but to care.  This, to me, feels huge because these students no longer see math as completely hopeless.  I thought my heart was going to burst that day.

That class makes my heart sing all the time, though.  They’re sweet and work hard and I continue to be beyond thankful for them.  Just today I spent 40 minutes laughing and talking with them after my lesson was over about all kinds of things.  Not all classes are like that, though, and this year’s Form 3s have proven to be quite a challenge.  So much so that I have stopped caring about the students that insist on doing other work and acting out while I’m teaching.  I used to walk around and make sure everyone’s notebook was out before I started my lesson.  That stopped right around the time I realized that I can’t control whether or not a student learns.  Now I focus only on the students that want to learn math and let the rest do what they want as long as they’re not being disruptive.  At the beginning of the year, this meant I wasn’t teaching to very many.   A couple of weeks ago, though, I was pleasantly surprised by a comment from the school’s academic master.  He first asked me about Form 3 and I replied with the expected flabergasted look, a bit of a grunt, and a shrug.  He proceeded to tell me that there were some students who had come to him to tell him that “these days they are understanding math.”  This blew me away because I was convinced that no one was actually paying attention when I was teaching.  I assumed that even the ones with their math notebooks out were just humoring me because they were the good kids.  Now, looking back on it, I realize that there has been a steady, albeit slow, progression of behavior.  At the beginning of the year I was Ferris Bueller’s teacher.  “Anyone?  Anyone?”   In a classroom of 80, this is insanely frustrating.  Then the silence turned into mocking.  This is insanely annoying.  When the academic master made his comment to me, the students had finally reached what seemed to me like indifference.  After he made that comment, though, I started paying a little more attention and as I looked around each day, I started to notice more and more math notebooks coming out when I was teaching and more and more students writing down what I was putting on the board.  Slowly (I can't emphasize this word enough), but surely, I feel like I’m winning them over.  More and more students are starting to participate and I realize that I am now receiving a lot more respect than I was at the beginning.  That right there feels absolutely phenomenal and that right there is what I call success.