American's interpretations

I was recently sitting down in the village with a group of fathers when the topic of American's interpretation of Africa came up.

"We are so thankful for you to be here in Lidumbe (the name of my village). You are teaching our children and helping the village so much, and for that we are grateful. You've become one of us already. You speak Swahili, you come and tell stories with us, and you are learning more of our mother tongue every day (Makonde). But you must share our story with your home. Americans think that Tanzania/Africa is a bad place. They think that people often die of hunger here, they think that we are not civilized, that we are without technology. Look around Lidumbe, have you ever seen someone die of hunger? Do you not see cars, motorcycles, and televisions? So when you return please tell your comrades how life really is here so that they too can understand what it means to live here."

It's something that I often think about here, and after our conversation I've begun to think about even more. It is one of the reasons I am incredibly thankful that some of my American family was able to visit me and see what it means to be Tanzanian. The misconceptions about life in Tanzania (or Africa in its entirety as many like to think) are countless. Even if it is only a little, I hope that what I am doing can raise awareness of how beautiful life is here.

I am surrounded by kind, creative, and hard-working people. I am only halfway through my service, but I have started panicking over my impending departure. Leaving a place that I truly feel at home with is not going to be an easy feat. Parting ways with the people who have become my friends and family will be one of the hardest things I'll face, because it isn't certain that I will ever see them again.

No matter what I do during my time here I will never be able to do as much as has been done for me.

An unwanted, but necessary post.

This shouldn't be necessary, but given the responses to the attack on the LGBT community it apparently is.

I currently live in an Islamic community. 

I have found support in my neighbors.
I have found comfort in my community.
I have found love and acceptance in my village.
I have found encouragement in my students.
I have found a home in a community that many Americans have begun to condemn.

Why is it that America is so quick to point fingers at Islam whenever an act of terror occurs? Are we, as Americans, too proud to ever label a terrorist as an American? Or is it because Americans are too ashamed to accept that this could possibly be their own fault? With the attempts at passing a vast amount of anti LGBT laws in America's recent past it comes as a shock that we continue to put the blame on another source. This act of terror was not linked to an entire religion. It was not caused by Islam, and I can not stress that enough. This tragedy took root in the hatred that has been housed in the minds of Americans. The misunderstanding that is reinforced with every law, and every comment that continues to take arms against the LGBT community. This tragedy was supported by the outdated gun laws that American's refuse to reconsider despite the growing number of casualties that it claims. Are we too embarrassed to admit that there could be a better way of doing things? Are we too scared that changing our laws will be seen as weakness? The way we have continued has been shown to be unsuccessful, yet we continue to send prayers and thoughts. We cross our fingers and hope that maybe, just maybe, there won't be a next time. How could something so cruel happen? Because we are allowing it to happen. Time and time again we have been shocked, but not to the point of doing something about it. We have seen our friends, our families, even our children take the toll for our arrogance. I believe it is true that as long as there is enough hatred in the hearts of mankind there will be a way for cruel things to occur. However, we have the power to mitigate these events and are just refusing to put forth the effort required.

Preach love, show acceptance, and avoid hate. Do not, even for a second, try to blame an entire religion for a tragic event just because you cannot take it upon your own shoulders to try to make a change.

The wheels on the bus

I was recently sitting on an unnecessarily long bus ride when I had a little moment of self reflection and saw how much I've changed in a year. Before Joining Peace Corps my personal bubble was really really important to me. Don't get me wrong I still don't really enjoy being touched (Sydney), but I can apparently tolerate it now. To paint the picture of this story let me start from the beginning.

5:00 AM - My alarm goes off and I make sure all of my belongings are in check for ~week away from site. It's still dark outside and relatively silent.

5:40 AM - I leave my house to get to the village stand at 6  in case the bus shows up early. I make my way through the cashew farms and overgrown grasses that are wet from a recent rain. Good thing I wore a flannel over my t-shirt because I'm not used to this morning cold. It's a 20 minute walk through some "forest" areas until I get into the village, and then to the stand. The bus doesn't arrive early so I wait for about 30 minutes alone while the few people moving around in the village greet me.

6:30 AM - I get on my bus and mistakenly take one of the smaller seats so my knees are shoved against hard wood, but it's only 100 miles so I can deal right? Haha. The road from my village to Mtwara is not exactly a good road. The rainy season has washed away parts of the road and it's now incredibly uneven. Throughout the first hour of my ride we stop at every nearby village to pack people onto this bus that should hold maybe 50 people (I'm garbage at estimations, but I'm trying). Every stop you more people cram in and there is always at least 4 people touching you at one moment. It gets to the point where you think more people can't possibly cram in, but oh are you wrong. There are laps that havent been utilized!

                    About 4 or 5 hours into my trip my legs are dead. The mom standing next to me is holding a chicken that continues to breath into my ear, and stare me down whenever I turn my head. Asshole. Chickens are honestly the worst, but that's an entirely different topic to discuss. Another hour in and I am convinced my legs will never move again. I've had so many butts in my face/on my arms/smothering my head that I think I should be paying more for this trip.

                 By this time the sun is in full shine and it's heating up, but nothing I haven't experience before. I don't even need to take my flannel off because for awhile I think I'm acclimated completely to the Mtwara heat. Then it rains. The windows are all closed because god forbid this drizzle of rain gets someone wet. The moisture and sun mixture does wonders for the ~80 people on this little bus and we heat up real fast. I regret the flannel. People are resting their arms literally on my head and the damn chicken is still touching my ear. Alas, the girl standing behind me gets sick. She pukes into bad (very elegantly I might say) and the potential nightmare is over. Until she decides to hold the bad directly on my right shoulder. Chicken on the left, puke bag on the right, booties in the face. This trip has to be close to ending though because it's been 6 hours. HA.

               The bumping and people falling onto me continues for another 2.5 hours. At this point I've listened to so much Beyoncé that I am feeling immortal.

3 PM - I stumble off the bus with bruised knees and potential vomit on my shoulder. Grab some fresh juice from a kid selling it at the stand, get myself some food finally, and make my way to the training center.

Let's see what you've got, life.

     As a Peace Corps Volunteer you experience an extreme roller coaster of emotions during service. It is said that during Peace Corps you will experience some of he highest highs, but also the lowest lows. For about 8 months my roller coaster seemed to only be going up. I had shrugged off the possibility of having serious lows, because how could I ever be so upset when I've finally made it to where I want to be? Well life came back hard and reminded me. Lately I've been in a slump with school. Teaching has been less rewarding than usual and my students are getting worn out from their studies. The energy that I used to have when teaching faded, and waking up to go teach became more and more difficult. Then my house became overrun with a driver ant infestation, which everyone should google to understand how horrible that is. Thousands of these asshole creatures took over my courtyard, kitchen, and bathroom. Want to go pee? Too bad you're going to have to go outside somewhere or you will be covered in ants that bite harder than any other insect. "Wow mother nature this is pretty screwed up. I'm having rough time just let me be." - me to myself as I wallowed in self pity. On top of the ants I found out that the Tanzanian I had essentially been seeing for five months was a pathological liar and had been sleeping with anyone possible behind my back. So that was another stone that life chucked at my head. Before I let myself get overwhelmed with all the shit that happened I realized that this was a good thing. What if I had gotten trapped even further in such a toxic relationship? What if the ants had overrun my bedroom instead of my kitchen and bathroom? What if I never got in to Peace Corps? Yeah shitty things happen in life, but I'm here and so many good things are happening that I have just been ignoring.

     I went with Ibrahima to his village to greet his mom and see the changes he wanted to make to this room, and when we arrived 10 little kids were following me around everywhere. They giggled every time we talked and were so joyful just because I had showed up to the house. Ibu and I went into town to hang out for a bit, and the villagers were circled around playing games. They were all happy to have me join in as well. One of the grandfathers was convinced that I couldn't understand anyone even after Ibu assured him I speak Swahili, but very little Makonde. During the trip back to my house I ran into friends, people came out of their houses and waved as I passed, and I realized I have no time to be upset. Yeah life sucks at times, and their are some genuinely shitty people in the world. Cut the bad people out of your life, because there are so many reasons to be happy. I had just closed my eyes to these things for too long, and damn am I happy to be aware again.

Sorry for all the language grandma, but I'm pretty damn happy right now.

Mbona umenung'unika

     Something I've been thinking a lot about lately is how my service is viewed through other peoples eyes. It's not uncommon for Peace Corps Volunteers to hear "What you're doing is going to change so many lives" or "You're tough for putting yourself through that for two years!" The people outside of the Peace Corps have this grand illusion of what volunteers are actually doing. Many think that every day is a trial and life is difficult, but my current life is incredibly easy.

     This post is about my life though and I don't want to take away from other volunteers who find their lives difficult. Yes, I don't have electricity or running water. Yes, I rarely speak English and I cook over a little charcoal stove. No, there isn't pizza or readily available dairy. But I have my own house, a cat, and close friends in my village. Every day I go to teach and am greeted by new problems and rewards. Though it isn't easy to be teaching Biology in another language, and I envy the resources that are available to teachers in the states. I often forget where I am at until I have a slip up in my Swahili and can't understand what my students are asking me. I'm still facing problems that I did in the states. Those dirty dishes aren't going to clean themselves. That person isn't good for you why are you pursuing them? It's almost like senior year of college again expect I never drink anymore and I'm not spending absurd amounts on delivery food. Actually, for me moving to Tanzania was an easier adjustment than going off to college. Maybe always having Africa as my end goal prepared me for life in Tanzania and that's why there wasn't culture shock. Or maybe I am just too apathetic towards life to care enough about the differences. Either way I am more than content with my life here and I'm already dreading the end of my service.

     The next illusion I'm sadly going to shatter is how much change a volunteer is bringing about. As a volunteer it is my hope that I can help change one life. Just a single person. Maybe one of my students will graduate and move on to form 5 and 6. Maybe one won't continue school, but they'll pick up some life skills from me and it'll help them later on in life. The point is I am not this immense agent of change. I will be changing very small things in the scheme of life. For some students I might be that push that helps them further their education, and for others maybe I was just the first white person they've interacted with. It is almost a guilty feeling that I am faced with when I think about how much I am getting out of this, and how much I am giving.

     Anyways, as of right now I think I'm going to start posting again. I've taken my time to take everything in and live in the moment. Now I'm ready for my daily experiences to be shared, and oh boy do I have some good stories ever since we reached the reproduction segment of the syllabus. My apologies for the reality check and it's cool if you keep that inspiring image of my life in your mind. But every day is like a get away to me. There are just little problems that seem big in the moment. Like if it's your last day of vacation and you've planned a day on the beach, but it rains. Go with it. Stop fretting over things that aren't actually problems.