Halfway There Reflections

1/11/12

We did some counting and figured out that Christmas Day was the exact
halfway point of our 10-month journey. All along, Ash and I have made
a point to celebrate our “anniversaries” in little ways. They also
have become a kind of checkpoint for us, looking back to try to
identify things we’ve done well, looking forward to set goals for the
time that remains. The ‘halfway’ anniversary has felt particularly
significant, most likely because we’ve been away for so long and our
work will be shifting some.

In reflection, the thing that’s struck me most is how different it
feels being here compared to when we got here and the reality that it
will likely shift that much again from now until May. The
possibilities are both exciting and frightening. But whether you’re
standing in line at the Grocery store, starting a new job or traveling
the world, I think its all about honoring the truth of this moment,
it’s reality. It’s like when Ash and I so often (already) reminisce
about college. I see only moments – pizza on the roof, crosswords in
sexton, a conversation in the library- like a thousand sparks or
flickering candles that together illuminate a room, make the reality
of that time visible again. Things change, people change, and no one-
not even ash- will ever experience this place exactly as I am now. So
for me, in this moment….

Chipole Is-

Chipole is time.
Long days, short weeks, shorter months.
Extra time, free time, wait time.
Time spent in prayer.
Time spent in books.
Times when I’m numbingly bored.
Times when I’m dodging the bat that decided to guard my door.

Chipole is colors- all of them.
Seafoam green, bubblegum pink, red-orange and the limiest of greens.
It’s the plastic buckets that come in all these colors.
and the women (just as colorful) who carry them.
It’s bells and drums and cats and roosters.
It’s a handful of beans and gallons of cooked pumpkin leaves.

Chipole is all over my body.
Sweat dripping down my cheek as I sip my tea,
Sticky arms, sticky hands, sticky face.
Sticky and yellow from all the mangoes.
On my feet, it’s orange.
The dirt I scrub off, night after night.

Chipole is getting lost.
Lost in the woods.
Lost in my thoughts.
Chipole is feeling lost.
And Chipole is my lost room-key-
Every single day.

Chipole is uniforms, raggedy.
Habits, pristine.
Meal-times, meal-prayers, Swahili prayers,
Swahili flashcards, Swahili attempts.
And always, then, it is laughter.

Chipole is wondering.
About the faces on my walls, and the ones out my window.
What are they doing? what would they say,
If we could communicate?

Blessings

12/26/11

Merry Christmas everyone!! The holidays are certainly not the easiest
part of our time here so far, but we’ve been enjoying ourselves.
Though when I think of my traditions at home- snow, cookies, packed
houses, Christmas trees- everything is pale in comparison, Christmas
here has been very special in a very different way. We have been very
blessed with a visitor, Ashley’s sister Chelsea, who has spoiled us
with many treats, traditions and reminders of home that have been good
medicine for the homesickness. We picked up Chelsea at the airport in
Dar es Salaam just as we were finishing up our month of traveling. The
trip was full of adventures and what better way to spending our
teaching break than experiencing new parts of the country and culture?
Here are a few of the highlights:

• Sleeping in a thatched hut on the beach in Bagamoyo
• Eating some great Indian food at a rooftop restaurant in Moshi
• Swimming in the Indian Ocean at sunset next just feet away from the
Dhows in Bagamoyo
• Making it to Irente viewpoint after an 8 hour hike in Lushoto,
Usambara Mountains
• Trekking through the Magamba rainforest in Lushoto, Usamabara Mountains
• Hanging out in coffee shops in Moshi, one of Tanzania’s main
coffee-growing regions
• Eating Chipate, Avacado and bananas right next to a waterfall in
Soni village after the long walk from Lushoto
• Playing cribbage on our balcony during a lightning storm in Moshi
• Sharing a cold (!) iced tea across at Posta bus stop and people
watching in Dar es Salaam
• Waking up to cleared clouds and a view of the snows of Kilimanjaro
from our room in Moshi
• Making a day of getting lost in the narrow streets of Stone Town, Zanzibar
• Feasting on seafood and Zanzibari pizza at the night market in
Forodhani Gardens, Zanzibar
• Waking up everyday at 5:30 to the call to prayer from the Mosque
near our hostel in Lushoto
• Watching locals harvest seaweed at low tide in Jambiani, Zanzibar
• Reuniting in Malindi, Kenya with five Johnnie/BVC friends and one
new friend from Germany
• Making and sharing an early Christmas dinner together in Malindi

This all might sound very glamorous and exotic but I assure you, most
of the time it was not. For every high point there was a low. It’s
also sweating constantly-even in your sleep, stolen shoes, bad hotels,
broken showers, disgustingly dirty clothes, lots of bug bites, getting
caught in some devastating floods in Dar and over 70 hours spent on
hot, dusty busses. Overall, travelling in Africa has been unlike
anything I’ve ever done. Amazing, but definitely not for the faint of
heart.

Needless to say, arriving back in Chipole with Chelsea was the best
Christmas present either Ashley or I could have ever received. It
feels more like home than ever and what an important feeling that is
this time of year. The sisters put on a play of bible stories on
Christmas Eve before mass and it was especially fun to see the ones we
know best put costumes on over their habits and get into character.
They even brought live bunnies into the church to make a more
life-like Garden of Eden. On Christmas morning, after Mass and
breakfast, the whole community gathered in the hallway to sing and
wish us and the other volunteers a Happy Christmas. The rest of the
morning Ash, Chels and I spent recreating a more familiar Christmas.
We opened letters and gifts Chels had brought from home, drank hot
chocolate, watched Christmas movies and ate candy until we were sick,
all in our room that we decked out in paper snowflakes and a paper
Christmas tree. My very favorite part of the day, though, was the
afternoon we spent at the orphanage. A man came from the village and
played guitar, the kids played drums and we all just danced. More than
a few of them fell asleep on the floor or in our arms, exhausted from
the dancing and excitement. It reminded me of my cousins at home, or
when I was little myself and would just crash at the end of the day.
Incredibly different lives, but in some ways, not so different.

Remember that song from White Christmas, “Count your Blessings”? Mine
feel endless this year. When I got to talk to my family at home- so
incredibly blessed. For Ash and Chels- blessed. For the Christmas we
had in Kenya and our friends there -blessed. For our family of
volunteers here-blessed.  For returning home safely from our
travels-blessed. And of course, for the community that I love that has
welcomed us back- I am so blessed.

On Work

11/17/11

While the content of my previous blogs may be misleading on this
subject, we do, in fact work here. Though the Tanzanian and monastic
balance of work, prayer and leisure make it more of a challenge, we
make a point to work as much as we can. Not only is that a part of our
commitment to this community, but we’ve also found it’s necessary to
satisfy our productivity-loving Yankee blood and, if nothing else,
keeping our hands busy is a wonderful distraction from feelings of
homesickness that have begun to set in.  So here’s a summary:

St. Agnes Secondary School for Girls
This has been our main assignment. Ash and I team-teach English and
computer classes to the girls in form 1 (about freshman in high school
age). Term has just ended and the girls are currently in exams. Our
success as teachers is not so easily assessed. I have no idea if I
helped them learn English and a few weeks ago a rain storm cut the
power indefinitely in the computer room making it difficult to teach.
Needless to say, the challenges have been constant. Our success here,
I think, is in the time we spend with the girls and our conversations
with them outside of class. We play games, sing songs, go to the field
and play sports with them (well, ash does anyway).  My favorite part
is probably the endless and hilarious notes we often receive from them
full of broken English and pretty inappropriate expressions of
adoration. One of my favs: “Sash and Margreth- I need the friendly
with you becouse I love u. – Jesscar.”

The Bakery
Next to school, this is probably the place where I spend the most
time. I just never get sick of baking. I love that now we know how to
do just about everything by ourselves, and they trust us to do it. We
make Maandazi (doughnuts), Chipsi (crackers), Keksi (cookies), Keki
(cake) and my favorite to make, Mikate (bread). As we bake we sing,
dance, daydream and snack on treats. Overall, a great place to be.

The Sewing Room
There are multiple sewing rooms here, as there are endless uniforms
and habits to make and mend. The one we work in makes priest’s
vestments- quite the addition to my resume. Ash and I began
cross-stitching stoles when work in the bakery became less pleasant
with the heat. I love going mostly because of the sisters who work
there- Sr. Jenista and Sr. Angelina. Both are incredibly sweet and
good to us, though Sr. Angelina speaks only a few words of English.
While sewing one day, I was surprised to hear not only an English
voice come through the tape player, but one with an Irish accent. I
have since learned that Sr. Jenista spent one year very near to where
I lived while studying in Ireland! It’s been fun having something so
important to me in common with her. What a small world it is.

The Orphanage
Though we play with the toddlers from time to time, just this week I
started going to orphanage on a daily basis, and spending time in the
baby room. It’s very difficult being there, and even more difficult to
describe. After just a week, though, I get the feeling that it will be
an important part my remaining time here.

That is our work, at least my attempted categorization of it. In
reality, it is much more sporadic and often unseen. It is helping to
peel potatoes or cassava, setting up Sister Rustica’s first email
account, teaching the novices a song to sing for English mass, or
setting the table for dinner. Really, most of what we do is not that
important or life changing. But the mere gift your hands can be
powerful, I think. And perhaps that is the best way to explain how we
spend our time here: just being our hands.

Give to the Max to BWSC!!

Just a note that today is “Give to the Max” day and my program, the BWSC is one of the organizations that is benefiting from funds raised today. This is a great way to support my work and the people in this community. Money raised will go toward making our work here sustainable, meaning that it continues after our year here with new volunteers. Since the BWSC is a new program within the last few years, we are especially in need of support ensure longevity in our relationships with the communities we serve in Puerto Rico and Tanzania. Thank you so much for anything you are able to give!

here's the link to follow: http://www.razoo.com/story/Sisters-Of-The-Order-Of-Saint-Benedict

11/1/11

October brought our first real experience with the African sun. It has
been unbearably hot, at least for us wimpy wazungu (Europeans). In
spite of this, or perhaps because of it, we have been persisting in
some of our usual fall traditions and in doing so, sharing a bit of
our culture with some of our new friends here.

So, on Saturday, we made apple pie. Though there are many delicious
fruits here, papaya, bananas, tangerines, and mangoes- apples are
difficult to find in Tanzania, since they must be brought in from
Zimbabwe. This means that the process of making the pie began with
tracking down ingredients in Songea, forced practice in Swahili, and
eventually finding a new friend who was able to speak English when our
Swahili proved inadequate- all an adventure in and of itself. But find
the apples, we did and with pride and excitement brought them to the
bakery to attempt our pie.

To say it was a success would be a gross understatement. Perhaps the
lack of variety in food here has left us with less refined palates, or
perhaps the flavor was made sweeter by nostalgia and memories of home.
In any case, Ash and I vainly agreed that it was the best apple pie we
had ever tasted. We shared with our friends at the bakery- Sr.
Jackline, Sr. Diana, and Emman all of whom gave rave reviews and
excitedly attempted to translate the recipe into Swahili. Sr. Diana,
in particular, laughed the entire time she was eating it, which we
think is just what she does when she is really happy? We also shared
with Sr. Thawabu and Sr. Mgaga who are the sisters currently working
in the guesthouse. When she finished her piece Sr. Mgaga said, “When
you make pie again don’t forget me.” Needless to say, it was fun to be
able to share something so familiar to us that they had never
experienced before.

After finishing our pie, we were talking to Sr. Thawabu about our
plans for the following day. We were getting up early to go to the
parish in the village of Mkongo, which was celebrating its 50th
Jubilee. Sr. Thawabu said, (I think jokingly?) “Bring me back a
chicken!” We laughed- good one Thawabu! As a general rule, I am
learning that the second you laugh and say or even just think to
yourself they aren’t serious, right? That can’t be for real- I am
quickly proven wrong. One example: During the mass at Mkongo, when a
woman with a large basket on her head wrapped in cloth was processing
through the crowd we assumed that in the basket was the Bible. Sr
Gotharda whispered, “It is a child.” Whaaaat? She’s not serious,
right? I must have heard her wrong. Sure enough, the cloth was untied
and a child, a large child of probably 6 or 7 years old, popped out
holding the Bible. The crowd went wild.

Similarly, Thawabu’s request acted as a prophecy. On our ride home,
when we offered to take the far back seat of the land rover, we didn’t
know that we would be sharing our seat with a third passenger: a live
chicken. Now, out of necessity people bring chickens everywhere here,
in plastic bags, in purses, with squawking heads popping out, in
baskets bigger than laundry baskets- full of chickens. They carry them
on buses, around town, and don’t blink at picking one up by the neck
and handing it over to a guest as a welcome gift. We’ve grown
accustomed to this, or so I thought. As it turns out, sharing the
backseat of a land rover on a 3+ hour drive is a very different thing
altogether. For most of the ride, it sat quiet and motionless. No big
deal, I thought, remembering the chickens we had when I was a kid,
internally exaggerating my farm girl roots. I’m just sittin next to a
chicken. Then, out of nowhere the bird began to squawk and flap its
wings. Naturally, and like perfect idiots, Ash and I began to squeal
ourselves, laughing intermittently and practically putting on a
contortionist show to avoid the flapping feathers- all of this only
seemed to provoke it. Finally Ash, regaining her senses, threw her
sweatshirt on top of the chicken. The effect was immediate; the calm
and quiet of the evening trip home was restored. The next night at
dinner, however, the chicken was permanently silenced. Thawabu got her
chicken, after all.

Kila Siku

10/22/11

I recently received an email from one of my sisters that spoke
beautifully to what it has been like for us in Chipole lately. She
said,  “things have slowed down here…everything has become ordinary,
and has intern become harder to appreciate, but of course not
impossible. I feel somewhat sad that the excitement has passed, but am
trying to remember that I have to ability to give each day
immeasurable excitement, if I so wish.” It was amazing to me how we
could be feeling such similar things in such different situations.
What a wonderful reminder that wherever you are, you cannot escape the
wanes and waxes of life.

This also prompted some reflection on the daily routine I have come to
take for granted. I realized how many things I have made a point to do
kila siku, daily. Daily rituals may not have immeasurable excitement,
as my sister says, but I feel like these are the things that in
retrospect, if not before, will have immeasurable significance. More
simply, I realized that many people at home have no idea what a
typical day looks like for me, and I thought it might be fun to give
everyone a better idea of the life that has developed for me here in
Chipole.

6:15- Wake up. Throw on a skirt. Walk down the hall for daily mass.
7:30- Breakfast, most often bread, jam and tea. BBC world news after.
8:30- Study Swahili
9:30- Work in the Bakery or somewhere in the monastery.
1:00- Lunch, most often potatoes, ugali, meat, vegetables and bananas
or papaya for dessert.
1:45- Make the mile walk out the secondary school to teach English or Computer
4:00- return from school, take tea.
4:30- read, journal, write emails, letters etc.
5:30- water our garden of cabbage, tomatoes, watermelon and carrots.
6:00- exercise.
7:00 – dinner, most often ugali, rice, meat, vegetables, same fruit for dessert.
10:30- sleep.

This is the most typical day for Ashley and I, but especially lately
we have been trying to mix it up as much as possible. In the evenings,
we do fun things- reading, crosswords, games, drawing, phone calls
back home, get a drink at the restaurant or have the occasional movie
night. I am sure this all sounds incredibly dull, but it is amazing
how exciting the smallest thing, a new food, an event out of the
ordinary, can be so exciting. The thing I love most is the time I have
to do things I am unable to prioritize at home. I spend more time
journaling or doing personal writing, reading, praying- so much so
that I worry about returning to my hectic life at home. I would love
to come back with a better sense of how to balance my life, and the
ability to incorporate at least of few of the daily rituals I find so
enriching here. The strangest thing about all this, I think, is that I
came to Tanzania very much in search of an adventure. I certainly have
experienced here to a greater degree than ever before, but somehow,
wherever I go, normal just chases me down and finds me. The strange
part is, I’m not the least bit disappointed.




P.S. a great big shout out to my October birthday loves- Amanda, Cait,
Mary and Le- I’m thinking of all of you always, but extra on your
special days. Wish I could celebrate with you!

A Rainy Day Pilgrimage

10/7/11

A while ago, Fr. Damas offered to take us (Ashley, myself and fellow
American volunteer Alicia) to visit his home parish and village of
Mpitimbi. Ventures with Fr. Damas never disappoint, so we jumped at
the chance. We eat all of our meals with Fr. Damas, and for a while
now there hasn’t been other volunteers so it’s just the four of us.
Fr. Damas is humble, faithful and shy at times. More than anything, he
loves to answer any questions we have which means that mealtimes
usually consist of his amazing life stories and a crash-course in
Tanzanian culture. We feel incredibly lucky to have such a wonderful
priest in residence and were rightfully anticipating this particular
outing with much excitement because it was so personal to him.

We planned the trip for Thursday, since it is our day off teaching.
Wednesday, however, unexpectedly brought the first rain we have seen
since we arrived and it continued into Thursday. Getting rain here is
more than an inconvenience. We’ve been told that during the rainy
season we will most likely be completely unable to leave and after
yesterday, I finally understand this.

In spite of the rain, we continued with the trip as planned. The drive
to Mpitimbi was about an hour and a half. This proved to be, by far,
the easiest leg of the journey. One of the stories Fr. Damas likes to
tell us is about how he used to walk to school until he was in
Standard 6 (6th grade-ish). From the home where he grew up to the
school is a two hour walk one way, about 6 miles. He did this everyday
as a kid, rain or shine, and always without shoes. When planning our
trip, he asked us if we would like to do the walk and visit his
childhood home and of course, we said yes. And walk, we did.  About 12
miles total, the whole time in pouring rain.  Though we opted for
umbrellas and rain-coats rather than the banana leaves Fr. Damas used
as a kid to keep his head dry, we were still soaked from head to toe
for most of the walk.

The spirit of the pilgrimage, however, refused to be dampened. It was
so special meeting his brother, sisters, and nieces and nephews, a few
of them even made the walk out with us. The man who now lives on the
land that once was Fr. Damas’ childhood home is his “elder brother,”
or the oldest living member of Fr. Damas’ family. This man lives truly
lives alone. There are no roads leading to his house that cars are
able to take, just the long, narrow trail we walked on. When we
arrived there we took shelter from the rain under one of his grass
huts and ate bread and fried bananas. He showed us coins he had dug up
from the ruins of his great-grandfathers house. They were old
shillings, from colonial times and probably saved for a dowry.
Needless to say, it was a pretty cool moment. The rain still coming
down, sitting in the company of people who lead lives so drastically
from our own, hearing about their ancestors- all the while physically
standing on the very ground that generations of this family has lived,
played, worked and died on. Later, Fr. Damas told us we were probably
the first white people to set foot on that ground.

The adventures of the day did not end there. After the 6 miles back
(still raining) we shared a meal prepared by Fr. Damas’ sister in her
home and visited the parish church. We were officially initiated into
rainy season on the ride home. The hour and a half drive we had taken
that morning ended up being four hours long on the way back because
the rain makes the dirt roads so slick. It was a little rough sitting
cold, wet and exhausted for that amount of time, and were happy when
we arrived back home in Chipole from our pilgrimage safe and sound.
100% worth it, but clean, dry socks have never felt so good.