I Love the Way You Do Me...

This last week has been quite intense. Our Swahili lessons are starting to get challenging. Before it was a nice slow pace that allowed me time to absorb the language, take in the sites, live with no worries... hakunamatata. But now we are going at a breakneck pace- learning 15-30 vocab words per lesson (2 lessons a day), tenses are flying at us faster then killer bees on a honeycomb snatching baboon, and to top it off the power and internet are out. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, but my candle is burned out, my flashlight bulb burnt out, and night time comes too fast- leaving me very little time to study.

When we aren't studying or in class some of our favorite pastimes are playing volleyball, chess, discussing politics/culture, and, my personal favorite, napping. Last week we played some volleyball with most of the teachers, Anna the German kindergarten teacher, a few secondary school students, and Sister Judith. Just so you know, nuns aren't the most athletic people in the world. So if your looking for a competitive high endurance game you do not want a nun on your team. While it was fun, Sister Judith's main contribution was praying a prayer of thanksgiving for the ball not hitting her in the face.

This week, before our volleyball game, Kadege, Omega, Kim, and I wandered around the compound for a while. We went to the school shops which sell quite the potpourri of items- fruits, pencils, candybars, grammar books, tampons, you name it. We bought some sodas and got to talking about Maasai culture with Kadege. The path to manhood for a Maasai boy is very interesting. The most interesting (and what I believe to be the most terrifying) stage for a Maasai boy is circumcision. It is NOT like American circumcisions. It is a big celebration where everyone gathers together to eat, drink, and be merry. At least the onlookers are merry, I'm not sure how the boys feel. The age of the boys who get circumcised at these celebrations is usually between 8 and 15 years old! There is no anesthetic and they are not allowed to cry, wince, or show any sign of emotion or they risk dishonoring their family. Can you believe that?! After they get nipped, they spend the next three days drinking medicated soup so as to avoid infection. Their relatives also give them the gift of cattle and goats which are more precious than money to cattle based Maasai society. Overall, it was very enlightening conversation and one I will not soon forget.

We finished the evening with a game of volleyball, ate dinner, did a little studying, and then went to bed. The next few days were pretty normal, just Swahili lessons and studying. But this weekend has been a blast! Audrey invited Kim and I to Dodoma where she and her boy friend, Paul, live and work. Dodoma is the capital of Tanzania and is, ideally, a 3 hour bus ride from Morogoro. But as we were waiting at the bus station a storm hit. It was raining pretty bad and after the first hour we hit a traffic jam. A vehicle had slid into the ditch and hit a power poll, knocking it into traffic leaving power lines strewn across the street. As we sat there a large group of people gathered around the fallen power poll. They obviously wanted to lift the lines off the street but were afraid to touch the wires. One man mustered up the courage and touched the line. There was a bright flash of light and he exploded into a million pieces. Just kidding, the line was dead and soon the traffic was moving again. Besides the traffic jam the bus ride was pretty miserable. The window leaked and my entire right side was wet for most of the trip. There was a television on the bus, but what they were playing was awful. The first hour and a half was a terrible movie called "Runaway Boys" which was about two boys who ran away from home and then worked in a city. Thats about it... the dialogue was awful, the scenery was terrible, the actors were ugly, and the plot was nill. During the traffic jam the radio was playing the great Tanzanian R&B hit "I Love the Way You Do Me". Here are some of the lyrics:
I love the way you do me, do me, do me,
I love the way you do me, do me, do me,
(drum solo)
(bass solo)
I love the way you do me, do me, do me,
do me, do me, dooooooooooo me.
Enchanting isn't it? I'm sure that ingenious band will win at least 5 grammies.

The next hour featured music videos by the worst jazz band I have ever heard. Well at least they said they were a jazz band, but it was more of a dirty-mariachi-grunge ensemble. Then, the piéce de résistance, there was an encore showing of "Runaway Boys"! YAY! Overall, we left for our three hour bus ride at 5:00 and made it to our place in Dodoma by 11:00 p.m.

Despite the sour start to our weekend adventure, Dodoma was amazing. We stayed at C.P.P.S. which is Latin for something... I don't remember what that something is, but they are part of the precious blood ministries, which is a world wide catholic missionary organization. C.P.P.S. is a very large compound with many different buildings. Their main function is building windmills to pump water for wells they dig for villages around Tanzania. To date they have built almost 700 windmill pumping stations. There is also a primary school, seminary, and home for a few nuns.

Paul has lived in Tanzania for the past 10 years and is an amazing person. He has never really stayed in any place too long. He travels the world learning language after language, earning basically nothing, and just living day to day. While I don't find his lifestyle particularly appealing, he is a dynamite person to talk to. He has had many interesting experiences and yet is an incredibly humble person. Paul is also a very gifted artist and photographer. He also opened up my eyes to another aspect of Tanzania I never really thought about.
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Tanzania is, as I hope you know, a "third world" country. It is a dog eat dog world, survival of the fittest, pick your cliché. And when missions and organizations try to hand power or control over to the Tanzanians it quickly goes down hill and dissolves. Before talking with Paul, I was angry when I would see white foreign mission leaders ordering around black native workers, as if they knew what was better for them. But truth be told... the Tanzanians have a very hard time organizing themselves. The head honcho at C.P.P.S. is a priest named Father Tim and when he is gone, like this weekend, Paul is in charge. But if Paul were to leave, even for one day, things would quickly get stolen, broken, sold, etc. Most Tanzanians have no sense of future, they do what they can to live for today. Sure that may mean ruining an entire drilling operation by stealing metal drill bits, undoubtedly ruining the future for thousand of thirsty people, but the thief would have food on their plate tonight. And although there are other options to theft, there is nothing easier or more efficient. Even more distressing, it isn't just a Tanzanian thing, its not even just an African thing, its a poverty thing. How do you fight something like poverty? You can't throw money at it, education doesn't always break the cycle, its hard to find long term service providers, like Paul or PH, who sacrifice their cushy Western life style and come to Africa to work... what can you do against such impossible odds? I tossed and turned all night while thinking about this. It has given me a pretty dismal outlook for the future of missionary and foreign aid ministries. Even in a wonderful place like C.P.P.S. I found myself depressed and saddened by this terrible dilemma- the best thing for Tanzania is for Tanzanians to govern themselves, use their own labor and resources, accompanied by foreign aid, and get themselves out of poverty - but because of poverty they are trapped in a very strong never ending cycle of theft and corruption, unable to build a foundation for their own success. ... ....
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C.P.P.S. had three chefs for us there and the food was amazing. Saturday afternoon we went to town and bought cheese (real cheese) from an Indian store. We used to make pizzas which we cooked in the huge stone, wood-burning pizza oven they had. Our rooms at C.P.P.S. were huge and we each had our own washroom with a heated shower. There was also a phone they let me use to call the states, it was really great to hear my family's voices. Overall, it was a stellar weekend where I could just kick back and relax.

On Saturday afternoon I had talked with some of the nuns from C.P.P.S. so Sunday morning I went to a Swahili Catholic Mass at the Church of the Precious Blood. It was surprisingly like American Catholic masses. Saints everywhere, an old priest uttering incantations, holy water, blada blada blada. There was even a small organ. The only think different was that everyone was speaking Swahili and some of the music was accompanied by a drum and rattle.

Our bus back to Morogoro was scheduled to leave at 2:30 Sunday. But when we arrived we saw two buses from the bus company we bought our tickets from on the side of the road, empty. After a brief inquiry it turned out someone had died (I'm not sure if it was on the bus, or just an important person to the bus company) and they weren't running today. Luckily they transferred us to another bus company and we headed out on time. Of course, it rained, so I was once again got wet. But at least there was no television. I got a lot of reading done and by the time I was back in Morogoro I had my mind back into study mode. Wish me luck, I have a full week of Swahili lessons ahead of me.

***Morogoro was out of power and internet again, sorry about the late posting, but not that sorry... you aren't cut off from western civilization. Another Post will be coming shortly***