Ever wondered what happened to all of the clothes you put in the Salvation Army pile, thinking that no one would every buy them, even for a quarter? Well I can't speak for the rest of Africa because I haven't been anywhere else yet, but I can safely say that a good portion of them end up right here in Tanzania.
All those D.A.R.E. shirts we got in 5th grade that were way too big to wear? Every third person has one. That South Park shirt you thought was sooo cool in 7th grade? A lady wearing a traditional wrap skirt and carrying a basket on her head through the mountains is now the proud owner. And ladies, those pale pink track pants you never really used? I still giggle every time I see a dude wearing them. Even that KS95 shirt you picked up at the State Fair that one year and only ever wore around the house, and the cheap Randy Moss jersey you got at Target when you still thought he was the hope for the Vikings, just gaze out the window while you drive down any road in Tanzania and take a walk down memory lane with your previous wardrobe.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Memorial Day
This is my third consecutive Memorial Day that I have not been able to celebrate in true Minnesota at the lake fashion, or really at all.
I spent this day these past two years taking a 6am flight to Anchorage and then sitting at the airport for hours waiting for someone to bother to pick me up (which in the case of last year, they never did). I am missing Anchorage so much right now! I never would have thought it possible after my god-awful first summer there, but the place has grown on me and even gotten in my blood a little bit. Maybe next summer I'll be cruising the coastal trail again on a garage sale bike and taking care of some pretty great people. At any rate, I hope to someday again be celebrating this day wearing shorts and eating potato salad outside in the near future.
The only way a person could know that it was Memorial Day here is because of the fact that the U.S. Embassy closed and there was a blurb in the paper explaining why the Americans weren't letting people apply for visas this Monday. They took some liberal quotes from a Bush speach and said that we all go to the cemetary and put up flags. Pretty much.
And what does the U.S. embassy look like? Kind of like a fancy warehouse, like a new one that hasn't had time to get really dirty yet. It's right in my neighborhood, away from the bustle of the city, and the only identifying marks are the small U.S. flag out front (by small I mean an eigth of the size of the flags the have at Perkin's) and "American Embassy" in tiny tiny print at the top of a sign with parking instructions.
In the late 1990s, the U.S. embassies in Kenya and Tanzania were almost simultaneously bombed by a group called al Qaida, and ordered by a man we would come to know well on September 11, 2001. These were some of his first attacks on American interests and helped his name to grow in media and political circles. Osama blew up about 300 Africans that day (the Nairobi embassy was next to a hospital that was heavily damaged) for the sole purpose of killing a few American employees. Since this act of terrorism, the Dar embassy was moved and made much more discrete to try and distance itself from the bloody recent past.
I spent this day these past two years taking a 6am flight to Anchorage and then sitting at the airport for hours waiting for someone to bother to pick me up (which in the case of last year, they never did). I am missing Anchorage so much right now! I never would have thought it possible after my god-awful first summer there, but the place has grown on me and even gotten in my blood a little bit. Maybe next summer I'll be cruising the coastal trail again on a garage sale bike and taking care of some pretty great people. At any rate, I hope to someday again be celebrating this day wearing shorts and eating potato salad outside in the near future.
The only way a person could know that it was Memorial Day here is because of the fact that the U.S. Embassy closed and there was a blurb in the paper explaining why the Americans weren't letting people apply for visas this Monday. They took some liberal quotes from a Bush speach and said that we all go to the cemetary and put up flags. Pretty much.
And what does the U.S. embassy look like? Kind of like a fancy warehouse, like a new one that hasn't had time to get really dirty yet. It's right in my neighborhood, away from the bustle of the city, and the only identifying marks are the small U.S. flag out front (by small I mean an eigth of the size of the flags the have at Perkin's) and "American Embassy" in tiny tiny print at the top of a sign with parking instructions.
In the late 1990s, the U.S. embassies in Kenya and Tanzania were almost simultaneously bombed by a group called al Qaida, and ordered by a man we would come to know well on September 11, 2001. These were some of his first attacks on American interests and helped his name to grow in media and political circles. Osama blew up about 300 Africans that day (the Nairobi embassy was next to a hospital that was heavily damaged) for the sole purpose of killing a few American employees. Since this act of terrorism, the Dar embassy was moved and made much more discrete to try and distance itself from the bloody recent past.
My Day at the Spa
OK, so I didn't really go to the spa, but yesterday was my version getting pampered!
Nsia's cousin Freda, who is a medical student, came and picked me up to spend the day with me. She and her fiance invited me over, cooked for me, and completely opened up their home to me. I was watching ESPN on the good tv in their bedroom! And I was fortunate enough to see the Twins pull their triple play as the number one play on the Top Ten List. Nice work boys! I also got to see the announcement that Roli the Goalie has led Edmonton to the finals. Who would have imagined that going down when he spent the better part of the season as our backup man? Edmonton all the way folks - these two eastern conference teams are nothing to speak of. If Ottowa or New Jersey had gotten in there it would be different, but hey, it's still good to see a Canadian team playing for the Cup again this year.
Dad, do you think you could tape a game for me? One later on in the series? That will be my treat when I get home.
Anyway, after a meal of MASHED POTATOES ( a Thank You Jesus moment for me) and the first pasta I've seen in a month, Freda took me out to explore some of the highlights of Dar. She was so so good to me, helping me shop at the markets for gifts and getting me fair prices from all the vendors. The Goblirsch family is going to do well this Christmas! She even bought me a nameplate of a Masaai scene and had the Goblirsch name written on it. I must say it is odd to see my strange German name in a traditional Masaai scene, but I love it!
I also found where they sell all the fancy beaded sandals and had to leave before I converted another $50 into Tanzanian shillings. I may end up coming home with a suitcase full of footwear if anyone makes the mistake of taking me back there.
After some ice cream we took a drive along the Dar es Salaam harbor and I got to see the residence of the president. They also have a very white house, but it is a sprawling stone structure that looks almost a bit like an update of an old castle or fortress. In contrast to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, it is across the street from the public beach and the fish market with all of the interesting scenes and odors that provides!
We also drove along the far shore and got to see where all the foreign ambassadors live. I could not believe it. They all have mansions on the beach front that are obviously the nicest homes in the city. And for what? The last time I checked, Finland, Sweden, and Ireland did not have a whole lot going on in Tanzania. Being a foreign dignitary must really be the life. They give you a beachfront mansion to fulfill your sole purpose of entertaining guests and other dignitaries.
We capped off the day by seeing the DaVinci Code at the only theater in Dar. I never thought I'd be seeing that movie in an African theater! I was so excited when I found out we were going. Every Indian (they show Bollywood movies there) and a good portion of the local mzungus were there as well. There was hardly a black person in sight.
While we were waiting for the film to start, a group of Africans did come and sit right next to me. I could tell right away that they were some big deal because Freda straightened right up in her seat and kept peaking around me to get a good look at them. It turns out I was sitting right next to the Minister of Finance, and right next to her was the former Minister of Finance. Apparently that is a high enough position in Tanzania for people to recognize you and get excited. Good thing I let her have the armrest for her Coke. I think she liked the movie!
Nsia's cousin Freda, who is a medical student, came and picked me up to spend the day with me. She and her fiance invited me over, cooked for me, and completely opened up their home to me. I was watching ESPN on the good tv in their bedroom! And I was fortunate enough to see the Twins pull their triple play as the number one play on the Top Ten List. Nice work boys! I also got to see the announcement that Roli the Goalie has led Edmonton to the finals. Who would have imagined that going down when he spent the better part of the season as our backup man? Edmonton all the way folks - these two eastern conference teams are nothing to speak of. If Ottowa or New Jersey had gotten in there it would be different, but hey, it's still good to see a Canadian team playing for the Cup again this year.
Dad, do you think you could tape a game for me? One later on in the series? That will be my treat when I get home.
Anyway, after a meal of MASHED POTATOES ( a Thank You Jesus moment for me) and the first pasta I've seen in a month, Freda took me out to explore some of the highlights of Dar. She was so so good to me, helping me shop at the markets for gifts and getting me fair prices from all the vendors. The Goblirsch family is going to do well this Christmas! She even bought me a nameplate of a Masaai scene and had the Goblirsch name written on it. I must say it is odd to see my strange German name in a traditional Masaai scene, but I love it!
I also found where they sell all the fancy beaded sandals and had to leave before I converted another $50 into Tanzanian shillings. I may end up coming home with a suitcase full of footwear if anyone makes the mistake of taking me back there.
After some ice cream we took a drive along the Dar es Salaam harbor and I got to see the residence of the president. They also have a very white house, but it is a sprawling stone structure that looks almost a bit like an update of an old castle or fortress. In contrast to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, it is across the street from the public beach and the fish market with all of the interesting scenes and odors that provides!
We also drove along the far shore and got to see where all the foreign ambassadors live. I could not believe it. They all have mansions on the beach front that are obviously the nicest homes in the city. And for what? The last time I checked, Finland, Sweden, and Ireland did not have a whole lot going on in Tanzania. Being a foreign dignitary must really be the life. They give you a beachfront mansion to fulfill your sole purpose of entertaining guests and other dignitaries.
We capped off the day by seeing the DaVinci Code at the only theater in Dar. I never thought I'd be seeing that movie in an African theater! I was so excited when I found out we were going. Every Indian (they show Bollywood movies there) and a good portion of the local mzungus were there as well. There was hardly a black person in sight.
While we were waiting for the film to start, a group of Africans did come and sit right next to me. I could tell right away that they were some big deal because Freda straightened right up in her seat and kept peaking around me to get a good look at them. It turns out I was sitting right next to the Minister of Finance, and right next to her was the former Minister of Finance. Apparently that is a high enough position in Tanzania for people to recognize you and get excited. Good thing I let her have the armrest for her Coke. I think she liked the movie!
A Wedding Party
Since I have come to Dar, I have had two big outings with the Kileo family.
The first was the wedding reception of a cousin of the family on the first full day I was here. We drove out to a village on the way to Morogoro where one of Nsia's cousins who now lives in England had come home to celebrate her marriage with her family.
Now, I didn't exactly bring nice clothes with me from home. In fact, I brought the old and ugly stuff that I plan to leave behind to create room in my luggage for new purchases and gifts. Nsia's mother thought what I had on was "strange" (a wrap I'd bought in Zanzibar that I really like!) so I had to put on my FILTHY, salt-water soiled and stained jeans as my next best option. I was uncomfortable, but I figured it was really late at night and it was dark, so it shouldn't matter at all.
And all of a sudden I am sitting at the freaking head table next to Mama Kileo and her sister and sister's husband in a spot of honor, in front of a hundred friends and relatives!! I was mortified at first and was acutely aware of how much I was being stared at, but talked myself into believing that it was because they didn't know who white girl was rather than because of my homeless-style fashion sense.
Being at the head table was a big job at this reception. Nsia's aunt and uncle made speaches, her mother went out and led a traditional dance from their tribe, and I had to keep standing up and shaking hands with people and waving. It was mostly all in Swahili so I don't know what any of it was about. I ceremonally touched a bottle of champaigne at one point, and we got our very own layer of the wedding cake (with frosting folks! they don't do frosting in this country!) while everyone else got an orderve-sized piece on a toothpick. There was a formal introduction made of everyone at the head table. I had to stand and wave at the crowd by myself while the mother of the bride said I don't know what in Swahili (and by the look on her face she didn't really know what to say about me either) and I later was included in the wedding photos. In my stained jeans and falling apart dirty t-shirt. I hope when they look at the wedding video they laugh rather than cringe! I know my poor grandmother was rolling over in her grave.
It was a very nice party though, and some of it was done in English as the groom was from Sierra Leone. It would be difficult for them to have a wedding there because of the unrest and the fact that so many are scattered as refugees right now. There were wonderful speaches made about how they had honored their families by coming home to celebrate with them rather than doing it in England, and how their marriage was a unification of Africa. It was very heartfelt and powerful.
My favorite part overall was when they brought out the goat. Now goats are my favorite animals, and with me being a vegetarian, I was even surprised by my reaction.
The goat was cooked, but in a standing position with something resembling extremely limp celery sticking out of it's mouth. All of the fur was still on it's head, although it's ears had been cut off, while the rest of the body you could have put your mouth up to and taken a bite out of. It's legs had been cut off at the knees, and with the cooked neck meat, it's head kept wobbling to and fro with those dang celery leaves just wilting more and more by the second. It was obviously a very solemn tradition for the bride and groom to come out and cut the first pieces off the goat. There was dead silence while they sawed away at it, and I had to do everything in my power to cover up my hysterics at watching it's head full of fur and celery leaf wobble around like my Kirby Pucket bobble head doll.
The first was the wedding reception of a cousin of the family on the first full day I was here. We drove out to a village on the way to Morogoro where one of Nsia's cousins who now lives in England had come home to celebrate her marriage with her family.
Now, I didn't exactly bring nice clothes with me from home. In fact, I brought the old and ugly stuff that I plan to leave behind to create room in my luggage for new purchases and gifts. Nsia's mother thought what I had on was "strange" (a wrap I'd bought in Zanzibar that I really like!) so I had to put on my FILTHY, salt-water soiled and stained jeans as my next best option. I was uncomfortable, but I figured it was really late at night and it was dark, so it shouldn't matter at all.
And all of a sudden I am sitting at the freaking head table next to Mama Kileo and her sister and sister's husband in a spot of honor, in front of a hundred friends and relatives!! I was mortified at first and was acutely aware of how much I was being stared at, but talked myself into believing that it was because they didn't know who white girl was rather than because of my homeless-style fashion sense.
Being at the head table was a big job at this reception. Nsia's aunt and uncle made speaches, her mother went out and led a traditional dance from their tribe, and I had to keep standing up and shaking hands with people and waving. It was mostly all in Swahili so I don't know what any of it was about. I ceremonally touched a bottle of champaigne at one point, and we got our very own layer of the wedding cake (with frosting folks! they don't do frosting in this country!) while everyone else got an orderve-sized piece on a toothpick. There was a formal introduction made of everyone at the head table. I had to stand and wave at the crowd by myself while the mother of the bride said I don't know what in Swahili (and by the look on her face she didn't really know what to say about me either) and I later was included in the wedding photos. In my stained jeans and falling apart dirty t-shirt. I hope when they look at the wedding video they laugh rather than cringe! I know my poor grandmother was rolling over in her grave.
It was a very nice party though, and some of it was done in English as the groom was from Sierra Leone. It would be difficult for them to have a wedding there because of the unrest and the fact that so many are scattered as refugees right now. There were wonderful speaches made about how they had honored their families by coming home to celebrate with them rather than doing it in England, and how their marriage was a unification of Africa. It was very heartfelt and powerful.
My favorite part overall was when they brought out the goat. Now goats are my favorite animals, and with me being a vegetarian, I was even surprised by my reaction.
The goat was cooked, but in a standing position with something resembling extremely limp celery sticking out of it's mouth. All of the fur was still on it's head, although it's ears had been cut off, while the rest of the body you could have put your mouth up to and taken a bite out of. It's legs had been cut off at the knees, and with the cooked neck meat, it's head kept wobbling to and fro with those dang celery leaves just wilting more and more by the second. It was obviously a very solemn tradition for the bride and groom to come out and cut the first pieces off the goat. There was dead silence while they sawed away at it, and I had to do everything in my power to cover up my hysterics at watching it's head full of fur and celery leaf wobble around like my Kirby Pucket bobble head doll.
The Parting of the Ways
We arrived back on the mainland (after another glorious ferry ride on the upper deck with a panoramic view) a few hours before the bulk of my group needed to get to the airport. We went straight to eat at what was a fairly swanky restaurant in Dar with veggie burgers and real seasoned fries and ketchup! Best burger I ever had.
The dinner conversation was pretty cool - Dr. Stickert had us all go around and say what day was our best and what person has stuck in our minds the most (usually some random person we met at a village who we didn't even really speak with) and what we would cut out or change for next year's group. It was a very satisfying way to bring it to a close.
And then all of a sudden we were at the airport! We were a little late because Dr. Stickert ordered a seafood platter and got a heaping plate of chicken, and then a heaping plate of seafood when we were ready to leave to remedy the mistake. The group was through the gates before I'd really said good-bye to anyone as I was wandering around looking for my hosts (guess I should have been a bit more specific than "I'll be at the airport"). And they were gone! Two of them have already graduated by now (they left last Thursday night) and others have already been home and left again for their summer jobs with no time to sleep off the jet lag.
That left me with mchungaji Hafermann and Zach, who is staying an extra week to climb Kilimanjaro (he's up on the mountain right now, probably getting close to the top - good luck buddy!). Pastor eventually found my hosts, who had a sign with my name on it and everything! I've always wanted to see a sign with my name at the airport!
We left very quickly and I was brought to the place I have been ever since, the home of my dear classmate Nsia, who is unfortunately spending the summer in Iowa while I am enjoying her parents and relatives. They are feeding me well and I'm getting a lot of time to gather my thoughts and get centered before I make my next move.
The dinner conversation was pretty cool - Dr. Stickert had us all go around and say what day was our best and what person has stuck in our minds the most (usually some random person we met at a village who we didn't even really speak with) and what we would cut out or change for next year's group. It was a very satisfying way to bring it to a close.
And then all of a sudden we were at the airport! We were a little late because Dr. Stickert ordered a seafood platter and got a heaping plate of chicken, and then a heaping plate of seafood when we were ready to leave to remedy the mistake. The group was through the gates before I'd really said good-bye to anyone as I was wandering around looking for my hosts (guess I should have been a bit more specific than "I'll be at the airport"). And they were gone! Two of them have already graduated by now (they left last Thursday night) and others have already been home and left again for their summer jobs with no time to sleep off the jet lag.
That left me with mchungaji Hafermann and Zach, who is staying an extra week to climb Kilimanjaro (he's up on the mountain right now, probably getting close to the top - good luck buddy!). Pastor eventually found my hosts, who had a sign with my name on it and everything! I've always wanted to see a sign with my name at the airport!
We left very quickly and I was brought to the place I have been ever since, the home of my dear classmate Nsia, who is unfortunately spending the summer in Iowa while I am enjoying her parents and relatives. They are feeding me well and I'm getting a lot of time to gather my thoughts and get centered before I make my next move.
Zanzibar!
Kids playing in cardboard boxes is apparently univeral. These guys were playing in the alley where our guest house was.
Look closely, there is a man shimmying up this 100 ft tree to snag us some coconuts for our lunch at the end of our spice tour. The only tool he used to help himself was a piece of cloth that he put around the outside of the tree that he held on to while he moved his legs up. It was crazy.
Our Transportation
My pre-creepy rastafarian man view of the Indian Ocean from the Stone Town beach.
I LOVED my time on the island of Zanzibar. In fact I think I could have stayed there for the whole three months of my trip and never gotten sick of it.
Zanzibar is an island of 700,000 people that lies about a two-hour ferry ride (on the fast ferry) from Dar es Salaam. It used to be it's own sovereign nation, but is now a part of Tanzania. It has a fascinating history, full of slave trading, spices, and Arab influence. The Sultan of Oman (a country bordering Saudi Arabia to the south) actually moved his residence to Zanzibar at one point because all of his riches were made there. Where did the money come from? The slave trade.
The slaves that Americans are used to hearing about are the ones who were taken by boat from the western coast of Africa to the new world to work as laborers for the elites throughout North and South America (and it is interesting to note that at every point along the Atlantic coast in every country in North, Central, and South America, there are black communities left over from the time of slavery). In the eastern part of Africa, slaves were taken east rather than west and traded by the Arabs. They were sold throughout the Arab countries and even as far as India for quite some time. The reason that there are few visible traces of this form of slavery in these countries is that the slaves were not allowed to marry and procreate, even to the point of sterilizing slave men. This kept the trade very active as the supply continually needed to be replaced, whereas in the Americas, slave populations were built up through family systems at a certain point more so than the international trade.
The Lutheran Junior Seminary where we stayed in Morogoro was actually a stopping point on the slave trail to the coast. They have the biggest tree I have ever seen in my life on the campus (the one featured in my Ugly Skirt post) and when they first started developing the land, they found shackles at the base from where they would keep the slaves before they headed up through the Uluguru mountains on the same road we took to the wedding.
Now that I've bored you with my history lesson, here are some reasons why I love Zanzibar!
1. You get to spend two frickin hours on a boat with the wind in your hair and salt water from the Indian Ocean splashing in your face to get there! I could have died happy right then and there. We passed lots of little islands with sandy beaches and little wooden boats with local fisherman that looked about ready to capsize at any point. There was plenty to take in.
2. The call to prayer. I have never been to an Islamic country before (Zanzibar is 98% Muslim because of the Arab domination of years past) and the moment we stepped off the boat we were in a different world. Our hotel was across the alley (so about four feet away) from a mosque, so every morning at about 6am we were awoken by the first call to prayer of the day. It came from a speaker system directly facing my window, so there was no chance of missing it! I have no idea what they were saying since it is in Arabic, but it was beautiful. There was just something so mystical about the tone of it, to the point that it actually made me want to get out of bed at 6am to go pray. I now wish the Lutherans had a call to prayer, but I don't think it would sound nearly so cool in the Lutheran mother tongue of German.
3. There were cats EVERYWHERE. It is an island full of cats, and mostly ones with calico spots like one of my very own at home. These weren't the mangy, half-starved variety that you see on the streets at home either. They feed their street cats most liberally on this island of seafood. At night we would go down to the shore and buy some surf and turf. Since I had absolutely no intention of eating any of my squid, octopus, lobster, prawn, etc (it cost pennies and was cooked right in front of us on an outdoor grill) I sat by the water and made friends with the whole feline neighborhood. Just about every tourist and local there was sharing their food as well, about seven purring cats per person.
4. Never being far from the water is enough to keep me happy. It's really all it takes.
We got to go on a spice tour where our guide basically hacked off pieces of ever tree and bush we passed for us to taste. Now I know were lemon, ginger, cloves and probably most other spices in the world come from just by chewing on their leaves. We also got to drink a lot of juice straight from the coconut after watching a man cut them out of a tree for us. My definition of fresh has been forever changed!
The area that we stayed in is called Old Stone Town and was absolutely gorgeous. All of the buildings in Tanzania looked dirty (and I am not even talking about the ones made out of mud) but all of the buildings in Stone Town were made out of some sort of white stone and had lots of extra masonry work done to make them look extra fancy and regal. They were old and from a whole different world than that of mainland Tanzania. This is where the Arab influence is so evident. There were hardly any streets in Stone Town which is really connected by an elaborate system of alleyways. We were lost constantly. We walked in circles for an hour one night, turning this way and that through the maze of alleys barely a yard and a half wide, dodging the people zipping by on scooters all the while. Owning a car there would be pointless.
Although the people there were still black, their skin tone was very different --lighter and somehow a little murkier. I had a hard time stopping myself from staring at people because I found them to be so incredibly beautiful. Although there aren't many Arabs left now, you can see that their bloodlines are still very much there. The women mostly wear headscarves, although most of them dressed like a typical Tanzanians as to the rest of their bodies rather than wearing the long robes that women is some Islamic countires do..
There were lots of other adventures like me trying not to throw up on a beach for the better part of an evening while my group sat on a fancy deck above me eating our first good western food in a month. This was at Mercury's, which is named after Freddie Mercury, the lead singer of Queen. He happens to have been a native Zanzibari, although his parents were Persian. I had a pleasant enough time calming myself down by watching the sun set over the harbor, but when a rastafarian man kept asking me to go fishing with him, I had to retreat back to Dr. Stickert and spent the rest of my time feeding the cats who were down below with me everybody elses leavings.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Another Day, Another Village
We went on our last village visit today and it was another good one. Many members of our group had actually been working on finishing up the church we were at during this week. Today was the grand opening and the bishop of Morogoro came and everything.
A Typical Send-Off
The best part however, was when we were about to head out and someone ran up to our land rover and asked if we could drop off three women at their village on the way out so that they didn't have to walk. OK, sure, we weren't as crowded as yesterday so we'd squeeze somehow.
A couple women turned into an entire Masaai family! There were three of us sitting on the benches in the back (built for four very snugly) and all of a sudden we were being handed child after child. Then the two mothers got in, one with a toddler boy strapped to her back. When we were finally settled, there were eight(!) people in the back, and not a one able to breathe.
All of a sudden the back door opens again and one of the women starts telling an old man to get in. He was Masaai height, so well over six feet tall and elderly, and there was absolutely nowehre to put him back there. He starts crawling in anyway. Maybe he saw a free square inch of space and decided it was his. Where he saw it, I don't know, but I guess anything is possible. I started screaming at Grant to tell this man to stop because he was going to lose his footing among the eight pairs of legs and feet and go down hard on top of the children who were our top layer of people. Grant in turn starts yelling at the man "mzee, mzee!!" which is the polite form of adress for an elderly person here. We finally got him turned around and made him the fifth person in the middle seat (built for three).
So all in all, we had 15 people in that freaking car. About two yards into our drive, we hit a huge bump and every single one of us in the back hit the ceiling with our heads at full force, including the baby. From that point on I had my left arm wrapped around the little girl in my lap like a seatbelt so she couldn't fly up or anywhere else anymore, and my other arm wrapped around the mother so she would go towards me instead of the back door when we hit bumps, with my hand against the window so the baby's head would hit that rather than the glass (like I did for a half hour yesterday). The poor little guy's head was hitting my hand a lot. The full grown mother who I was holding on to was really cute because she snuggled right into my arm like the big brave mzungu (white person) was there to save her from all evil. I held on to them for dear life and thankfully was the only one hitting the ceiling for the rest of the many miles we traveled with them. The poor baby was scared to death though. He clung to his mother and would only make a tiny whimper whenever his head hit my hand. I'm sure he had never been in a car before and thought that it and the scary white people inside of it were there to eat him alive.
Dad, it was a good day at the auction. I wasn't able to find you any Father's Day stuff while I was still home, so I picked up a gift today. Good luck at your game tomorrow. Hope that hand and all of your joints are holding up. Where is that KC tournament this year anyway?
To close, I have now seen my first turantula that wasn't behind glass. Shireen was good enough to find it cawling on the floor in our home, and trapped it in a pringles can. We brought it in to show and tell at breakfsast and were surprised to learn that it was a BABY turantula. Could have fooled me because the sucker was huge. It was a lot bigger around than the pringles can when it had it's legs where it wanted them to be, and a very healthy amount of hair. We let it go by the dining hall and hope it lives a long and healthy life.
Our Furry Friend
Saturday, May 20, 2006
The Village of Twa Twa Twa
Today we headed out yet again for another church service. For as difficult as it was for me to get through the first service we went to, I have fallen in love with these village worship services. Or maybe it's just the villages I love. From the moment we get out of the cars until the point when we try to drive away at the end of the day and they won't le go of our hands through the car windows, we are treated like honored guests in their unique and beatiful worlds.
The village we went to today was quite developed compared to the others we have visited. The potty had a cement floor! And a door! Crotch-level tarps aren't quite as functional for those of us not used to peeing outside. The village had also created a reservoir so that they have the assurance of water, and believe it or not, the World Bank footed most of the bill to build an actual water tower. I know, I know, it is hard to imagine the World Bank actually doing anything for international development without some kind of strings attached. Maybe this was their good deed for 1997 before they ran back to hide behind their bureacracy.
The church itself was made of mud and sticks with a palm leaf roof. It was beautiful. If I ever get to see all the great churches and cathedrals of Europe, I don't think they could ever be so beautiful to me as these little mud churches in the middle of nowhere.
During the service I avoided the mighty uncomfortable 2x2 planks that they used for pews by sitting on the dirt floor along the side wall with all of the little boys. The women were a little surprised that I would want to sit on the floor when I could have a seat, but my spot was a lot more fun than everyone elses! I was aided through the three-hour service by the little hands rubbing my arms to see if they could get the whiteness to come off on them. They examined my watch from every angle and touched my long finger nails over and over again. They were never naughty or loud (one of the women would have come after them with a switch if they were), but just sweet curious little boys.
The village we went to today was quite developed compared to the others we have visited. The potty had a cement floor! And a door! Crotch-level tarps aren't quite as functional for those of us not used to peeing outside. The village had also created a reservoir so that they have the assurance of water, and believe it or not, the World Bank footed most of the bill to build an actual water tower. I know, I know, it is hard to imagine the World Bank actually doing anything for international development without some kind of strings attached. Maybe this was their good deed for 1997 before they ran back to hide behind their bureacracy.
The church itself was made of mud and sticks with a palm leaf roof. It was beautiful. If I ever get to see all the great churches and cathedrals of Europe, I don't think they could ever be so beautiful to me as these little mud churches in the middle of nowhere.
During the service I avoided the mighty uncomfortable 2x2 planks that they used for pews by sitting on the dirt floor along the side wall with all of the little boys. The women were a little surprised that I would want to sit on the floor when I could have a seat, but my spot was a lot more fun than everyone elses! I was aided through the three-hour service by the little hands rubbing my arms to see if they could get the whiteness to come off on them. They examined my watch from every angle and touched my long finger nails over and over again. They were never naughty or loud (one of the women would have come after them with a switch if they were), but just sweet curious little boys.
After the service we had yet another auction in the church yard. My spf 45 was doing nothing in the direct near-equator sun, so I sat in the church and watched through the holes. After a long time, all of a sudden the women were trying to shoo me out of the door. I tried to tell them I was hot, but then I realized that I was about to ruin a surprise that they were planning and let one lead me by the hand back to the group. They put us all in a straight line and came out of the church singing a song that mostly consisted of the word Karibu, which means welcome. That is the word I have probably heard the most since I have been in this country. Everywhere we go we are welcome, welcome, welcome.
Each woman came up to one of us and placed a white Masaai beaded cross necklace over our heads while dancing and singing the Karibu song the entire time. I almost cried. We have never been given anything physical other than food at the other villages, so it was a big surprise. Apparently the mission has a special relationship with this village and Dr. Stickert, who had visited there last year, was not at all surprised. After the presentation of these heavily beaded white necklaces (they are very Masaai - Pastor Haffermann always wears one when he preaches) a man grabbed my hand and started dragging me away to an area where 25 or 30 young warriors were hanging out and watching us.
These guys hadn't come anywhere near the church, but came in from the bush to check out the mzungu (white people). A lot of them were wearing all black (recently circumcised - if they so mych as flinch or make a noise they are shamed) or had hair dyed as orange as construction cones to symbolize that they have been out in the bush and therefore can ask anything of anyone and it must be done for them. All of us girls were put into another single-file line, interspersed with the warriors, and started slowly marching to another area where we lined up opposite of eachother and we FINALLY got to see them jump.
The men started this chant with low noises coming from the back of their throats (there might have been words in the Masaai language but I couldn't tell) that sounded so absolutely ancient and stereotypically tribal. When they really got going, individuals would randomly come out in front of the group and jump a few times in time with the chanting/music, ending in a big huge stomp. The Masaai are the tallest group of people I have ever seen and they jump like they've been playing basketball all of their lives (they've probably never seen one). They just go straight up. It was amazing!
On our way out we had to drop off a few people at the main road, so our vehicles were overflowing with the addition of our Concordia friends. I was in the back of Grant's, which has two benches along the side walls rather than regular seats. We had five people, and I was the lucky one that got to sit on top of everyone else, but mostly being cradled in some random Tanzanian guys lap like a small child at bed time, while my head smacked (not bumped) on the back windom everytime we hit a bump. It was a dirt road. The guy was very gentlemanly about it, but he kept trying to talk to me and since our faces were about an inch and a half apart, I got a headache from trying to focus my vision on him, and from the regular smacking. It was an exceptionally awkward half hour, and I bruised several people.
More to come...
Friday, May 19, 2006
Ugly Skirt Girl and a Mighty Big Tree Things have slowed down considerably lately. I've actually spent the last three days right here at the Seminary with not a lot to do. I was meant to go with a social worker from the local AIDS agency, but he didn't have room in his car for all of us so I had to go back. I went to some classes at the secondary school yesterday. One was geography. Because they were converting one type of graph to another, they did math for the entire hour and 20 minutes. I would choose the geography class that is all math!
I tried to go into the AIDS agency again today but again it didn't work out and I had to take a taxi back. Good thing I knew where the taxi stand was and how much it should cost. You negotiate the price before you ever get in the car here. I had to go to a couple cars before they would give me the price they would give to a Tanzanian.
The next two day we are going to villages. The one tomorrow is neart he Mikumi Park where we went on Safari, so we may get to see some big animals again. Beyond that, our time here at the seminary is wrapping up. In a few days we will head to Dar and will then catch a ferry to Zanzibar, and after a day or two there, the rest of the group flies home and I am on my own. I must admit that I am looking forward to it. I'm a very independent person, and as much as I love it at the seminary, it feels like my trip hasn't even really started.
And with only one-sixth of my trip truly gone, here are my thoughts on the skirts that I am wearing day in and day out. They need to be burned. As Chelsea said yesterday, people just need to deal with the fact that I have legs and that they are not a bad thing. Unfortunately this will not be happening, so I will continue on with the skirts for over two months more. Who knows, I might actually get attached at some point.
I tried to go into the AIDS agency again today but again it didn't work out and I had to take a taxi back. Good thing I knew where the taxi stand was and how much it should cost. You negotiate the price before you ever get in the car here. I had to go to a couple cars before they would give me the price they would give to a Tanzanian.
The next two day we are going to villages. The one tomorrow is neart he Mikumi Park where we went on Safari, so we may get to see some big animals again. Beyond that, our time here at the seminary is wrapping up. In a few days we will head to Dar and will then catch a ferry to Zanzibar, and after a day or two there, the rest of the group flies home and I am on my own. I must admit that I am looking forward to it. I'm a very independent person, and as much as I love it at the seminary, it feels like my trip hasn't even really started.
And with only one-sixth of my trip truly gone, here are my thoughts on the skirts that I am wearing day in and day out. They need to be burned. As Chelsea said yesterday, people just need to deal with the fact that I have legs and that they are not a bad thing. Unfortunately this will not be happening, so I will continue on with the skirts for over two months more. Who knows, I might actually get attached at some point.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
The Masaai Village Part II
Waiting patiently to be registered for baptism
Registering for Baptisms
Masaai home
Village bathroom
*** Click on the pictures to see them bigger***
Registering for Baptisms
Masaai home
Village bathroom
*** Click on the pictures to see them bigger***
While we were driving the final leg to the village, Pastor H became quite confused about the directions our Masaai friend was giving us. After some lengthy back and forth in Swahili, Pastor Haffermann figured out that he was taking us to a brand new congregation that a pastor had never been to. The Evangelical Lutheran Church of Tanzania uses a network of evangelists to run their congregations and develop churches in new communities. These evangelists have usually been through at least primary school (they have to be literate so they can read the bible) and then the church will send them to bible school when they commit to becoming an evangelist. They run the services at their respective congregations with the exception of giving communion and performing baptisms. This is why it is such a big deal when Pastor Haffermann comes for a service. The congregation is able to receive the sacraments and there are ALWAYS new baptisms. He gets to some churches once a year. It's been fun to see all the little boys named Haffermann running around the villages.
Masaai Girls (and one boy). These kids are probably mostly siblings.When we pulled up to the "church" we really pulled up to a Masaai home. The Masaai are polygamous, and the men usually have up to five wives throughout their adult lives (they marry them over a period of years) and sometimes have more. A household consists of a large circular area that is separated from the wilderness by a fence of bushes and dead shrubbery. The animals of the family can be brought in there for safekeeping when they are not out grazing. The biggest house is the one where the husband and his main (first?) wife live. There are smaller houses for the other wives and their children around of the rest of the circular enclosure.
In this particular yard, there was a big old tree (they don't grow very tall but kind of spread out and provide some thin shade - from my observations the goats find them to be quite tasty) and this was our church for the day. Benches were brought in from the church we had thought we were going to. We watched the Masaai men bike in with four wooden benches strapped to the back of their bikes. They did this over an eight mile distance where there are no roads. We all stood there with our mouths open watching them pull up with four church pews strapped to their bikes.
The Church
Right away when we got there they began serving us tea, as has been done everywhere we've gone. They had moved out that family's herd of cattle from next to the tree right when we got there, but apparently the flies decided to stay with us rather than follow the cows out. I have never, NEVER seen so many flies and they were ALL OVER us. I thought I was either going to start crying or develop a nervous twitch before too long. It was one of those moments when you truely have no idea how you will make it through the day. They handed us massive tin mugs full of their special ginger tea and we spent the next half hour fishing flies out of our cups with our fingers and wiping them off of our chipatis because fanning at them did nothing. They didn't leave. Mercifully, by the end of the day I hardly noticed, but it was really awful. The women who came to greet us each had at least 30 flied each sitting on top of their shaved heads and didn't seem to notice, so it must always be like that there.
Because Pastor had never been to this congregation, there were going to be a lot of baptisms. Whenever we go to a village, he leaves us after tea and spends the next chunk of time registering the baptisms for the day. Each person has to go to him and give him their name, date of birth and so on to fill out their baptismal certificate. In a developing country, any official document that has your name and birthdate on it and is signed by someone of a certain position is worth a lot. It can be used as a legal document in some cases, so that utmost care is taken when filling it out. This is a problem, however, when people have no idea what year they were born in and refer to the season of their birth rather than the month and day. Because of this, and the spellings of names, registering for baptisms is a long process that takes a lot of narrowing down dates and consulting with family and neighbors to get things pinned down. It takes forever.
The registration process took four hours on this day. The people just kept coming and coming. This left us to hang out under the tree with the dozens of Masaai who intermitantly showed up in groups big and small. At one point we heard singing off in the distance, and we got to watch and hear the choir from the other church walk up to us from the wilderness singing in harmony at the top of their lungs and walking in time the whole way. I took video of it on my camera. They circled around our tree and sang song after song until they ran out and realized church was probably still a few hours off. Then we all just hung out for the next few hours. This meant a lot of different things.
Phil and his 20 new best friends killing time during baptism registration.I spent a lot of time watching the newborn baby goats in the yard (they still had their umbilical cords!) while I got laughed at by the warriors. It turns out that inspecting their animals is a huge compliment so I was actually doing a really good thing. Chellie taugh about 40 kids how to count to 100 in English after singing every song she knew with them (we did have four hours). Dr. Strickert suggested to me that I break in with some 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall and I heartily agreed with him on the merits of learning to count backwards in English, but never quite got anything stated. We had a big squishy rubber ball with us that the warriors first started tossing around. It was fascinating for us to watch because it was very easy to catch as far as balls go, and they could not catch it to save their lives. They had no idea what to do with their hands. It was the same thing when three of us played frisbee with some of the men. They were very interested and jumped right into a game we had thought would be for the children, but could not catch it. They looked like toddlers who don't have the gross motor control down to make the hand eye coordination happen at all. These guys live in the bush and herd cattle all of their lives. The only times they use their hands are when they are smacking cows with their big sticks or are cutting up meat. We were told today that they sometimes even hire villagers to build their mud and stick houses because they have no building skills. They are true herdsmen and don't try to be anything else.
My favorite part of the day was when the little boys got ahold of the ball. There were tons of little boys there on this day. They were each wearing a piece of fabric tied over one should and not anchored at the waist. If they're not moving much, everything is easily covered. If they are scrambling over a new toy they have never seen before, there are little penises and butt cheaks flying all over the place. It was quite a sight and I got a huge kick out of it. This was the day when I finally stopped being shocked everytime I saw a woman wip out a booby to feed a fussy baby. They do it all through church and even while singing in the choir. It's just the way it is here.
When church finally started, it was late afternoon. After this experience, I think church outside under a tree is the only way to go. You could hear the baby goats bleating for their mamas, chickens would occasionally run through everything and the birds were singing away. I loved it.
There were 59 baptisms at this service. It was a little shocking to afterwards realize that this only comprised of two polygamous families. The evangelist there was completely ostracized when he became Christian, but on this day, all of his brothers, their repsective mothers, wives and children were all baptised. It was a very big day for him. Being Christian does not change much of the daily lives for the Masaai. They do not need to change how they dress, eat, or make their money. They just go to church on Sundays and join the choir. The big thing though is that the men are not allowed to take any more wives. They are not forced to get rid of the wives they already have (this would be a death sentance for the woment and their children because of the shame, so the church repsects that), so not much changes for the older men. For the young warriors who may not have taken any wives yet, it is a very serious decision to make. Once they are baptised they folow the rules of the church. The baptised Masaai also agree that all drinking of alcohol stops (there are issues with alcoholism within the culture) although this is not a rule of the church.
Lining up those to be baptised
Adult Masaai Woman
Newly Circumcised Young Warrior (all in black)
A Warrior
Woman and Baby
Watching the Show
Choir members trying to see the action
The baptisms took well over an hour themselves. This is where it started to get interesting. The Masaai believe in evil spirits that can inhabit the women's bodies. We had two exorcisms that day that began while Pastor Haffermann was saying the final blessings over these two particular women. One only carried on for a while, the other went on for hours.
Now, spirits and evil in this form are not something I believe in. Mental illness and the power of attention seaking, however, are two things that I do not doubt. Most of our group was quite disturbed by what was going on or at least really freaked out (except for the good professor of religion who is also an ordained pastor and did mission work for six years in Papua New Guinea who just sat in the shade and did number puzzles and never showed that he noticed that there were women thrashing about on the ground and "speaking in toungues" a few feet away - gotta love this guy). I however made a few quick observations and was not really bothered or all that impressed by any of it. There were well over a dozen women baptised that day. Almost every single one of them had a baby strapped to her back. The first woman to lose it was the only one of all of these women to take her baby off and set him down next to her before she went up to be baptised. The only one. The second had no baby at all. I have watched enough tantrums, rages, and psychotic breaks through my job taking care of adults with disabilities, and these battles with evil spirits were nothing out of the ordinary from working with people with psychological disorders or who just need attention and know how to get it. Her poor little boy screamed bloody murder at the sight of his mother writhing on the ground and fought and fought the lady holding him back until he got back to her. Then the violent shaking stopped when he was in her lap and resumed when they took him away. I'm not buying it.
As I said, a lot of my classmates were deeply troubled by these events and we are still talking about them now. Most people feel that it is a battle nothing less than spiritual in nature. Pastor says that this happens whenever he goes to a new church. This is just how it works in the Masaai culture. One time he had eight women freak out at one group babtism. It was a lot worse than our two, and we had Grant and a whole lot of other people to pray over them and calm them down, and eventually a husband to haul the one who just wouldn't quit home. Pastor ended up completely skipping the sermon due to the amount of baptisms and other distractions (the choir left an hour before the service was over because they had to walk back their many miles to milk the cows).
It was after dark when we finally left. We had to stay for a meal, our lunch at 6 pm when the service was finally over, again eaten under that same tree. You do not leave without eating, ever. We spent seven hours at that one congregation and didn't even get enough time for a sermon. It was quite a day. To get back out, we had to follow some warriors on bicycles through the wilderness because there was no way we could do the road we came in on in the dark. They did a good job of keeping ahead of us and avoiding a lot of tees. We had to stop every so often so they could untangle their bikes from the bushes.
I hope I've done a semi-adequate job of explaining some aspects of Masaai culture. If anyone has questions about them and how they live an function in a world so different from them, just let me know. We've been spending a lot more time with themand they are just a wonderful and fascinating people.
Where's Waldo?
Now, spirits and evil in this form are not something I believe in. Mental illness and the power of attention seaking, however, are two things that I do not doubt. Most of our group was quite disturbed by what was going on or at least really freaked out (except for the good professor of religion who is also an ordained pastor and did mission work for six years in Papua New Guinea who just sat in the shade and did number puzzles and never showed that he noticed that there were women thrashing about on the ground and "speaking in toungues" a few feet away - gotta love this guy). I however made a few quick observations and was not really bothered or all that impressed by any of it. There were well over a dozen women baptised that day. Almost every single one of them had a baby strapped to her back. The first woman to lose it was the only one of all of these women to take her baby off and set him down next to her before she went up to be baptised. The only one. The second had no baby at all. I have watched enough tantrums, rages, and psychotic breaks through my job taking care of adults with disabilities, and these battles with evil spirits were nothing out of the ordinary from working with people with psychological disorders or who just need attention and know how to get it. Her poor little boy screamed bloody murder at the sight of his mother writhing on the ground and fought and fought the lady holding him back until he got back to her. Then the violent shaking stopped when he was in her lap and resumed when they took him away. I'm not buying it.
As I said, a lot of my classmates were deeply troubled by these events and we are still talking about them now. Most people feel that it is a battle nothing less than spiritual in nature. Pastor says that this happens whenever he goes to a new church. This is just how it works in the Masaai culture. One time he had eight women freak out at one group babtism. It was a lot worse than our two, and we had Grant and a whole lot of other people to pray over them and calm them down, and eventually a husband to haul the one who just wouldn't quit home. Pastor ended up completely skipping the sermon due to the amount of baptisms and other distractions (the choir left an hour before the service was over because they had to walk back their many miles to milk the cows).
It was after dark when we finally left. We had to stay for a meal, our lunch at 6 pm when the service was finally over, again eaten under that same tree. You do not leave without eating, ever. We spent seven hours at that one congregation and didn't even get enough time for a sermon. It was quite a day. To get back out, we had to follow some warriors on bicycles through the wilderness because there was no way we could do the road we came in on in the dark. They did a good job of keeping ahead of us and avoiding a lot of tees. We had to stop every so often so they could untangle their bikes from the bushes.
I hope I've done a semi-adequate job of explaining some aspects of Masaai culture. If anyone has questions about them and how they live an function in a world so different from them, just let me know. We've been spending a lot more time with themand they are just a wonderful and fascinating people.
Where's Waldo?
Some Morani roasting up a goat for lunch
Itty Bitty Goats
Masaai Girls
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
The Masaai Village
The tale of Sunday is a whopper, so I'm probably going to have to break it down into separate posts. From the time we got up in the morning untill after the sun was down, anything exciting that could have gone down did indeed happen.
We set out early for a Masaai village. We had heard that once we left the main road the going would be even rougher than our trek through the mountains, albeit a lot shorter. That was an understatement.
We waited alongside the main road in our landrovers for a while for the evangelist of the church to show up and lead us the rest of the way. Because of all the rain, a good majority of roads were impassible. Pastor Haffermann was quite uncomfortable just sitting there in our cars because the local villagers are hostile to the Seminary folks because they are on the brink of war with the local Masaai. The Masaai are a herding people and live completely off of the income they make from selling their cattle, goats, and sometimes sheep. The grazing land in this area is especially rich, which also means the soil is especially rich. The villagers make their income through farming, and they have broken the soil on Masaai lands to plant their corn. The seminary folk have helped the Masaai take these villagers to court to reclaim the land that is in fact legally theirs, and it looks like they are going to win.
Our evangelist eventually came and he started us down a road that was actually a foot path between 10-foot tall rows of corn. The road was completely covered with water fairly often and the ruts were ginormous. Every once in a while we would come to a complete stop and then the good pastor would floor it and we would fly over spots that looked like small lakes. This all worked quite well until we came to the river.
The view out the window as we approach the river.
Ever been in a river AND a car at the same time? Well I sure have.
I had my eyes closed, but from what I hear, we needed to hit the opposite bank at more of an angle, but that angle would have made us tip. The front of the car was a ways up the bank, but those of us in the backseat were definitely in the river.
When I opened my eyes, I saw the rest of my classmates and professor walking toward us from the rover that had been folowing us. Their eyes were as big as saucers and their mouths were hanging wide open. That told me all I needed to know. We were stuck good, and it had been scary to watch.
The look on Dr. Strickert's face a few moments later from my view out the rear window.
All of a sudden, local people started coming out of the woodwork, and Masaai warriors started showing up on bicycles. I turned around and all of a sudden there was Phil and a bunch of locals and Masaai throwing their full weight against the car while Pastor Haffermann played with the gas. We all had to stay in for the sake of traction for quite a long time. We had our cameras out taking pictures of the Masaai men with their machetes hacking up roots right next to us to put under the tires for traction and the ever-growing number of men messing with this and that to try to get us out. When we got more stuck, the students were forced to bail. One by one a man pulled us through the passenger door and a Masaai warrior grabbed our hands and dragged us up the muddy bank. My shoes were somewhere in the car, so all of a sudden I was standing barefoot in a road with about 100 men, women, and children amidst the ten-foot corn.
The locals were laughing and I figured this was probably the best entertainment they'd had in a long time and would be the story they told for years to come. Then I asked our German friend who speaks Swahili what they were saying. Um, they were chanting "give us money!" The men were telling Pastor that they would only push for a price and things were getting tense.
Eventually the second landrover had to cross over further down the river to try to pull ours out, and mowed down a whole bunch of corn in the process. That made the people real real happy. After a lot more work and a whole bunch of men, Grant was able to pull it out with his rover and Megan and I were climbing back in to get away from the semi-hostile people and get going. Well, apparently we weren't supposed to get back in the car yet. We were both in the way back seat with both side doors open when Pastor Haffermann gunned it harder than ever before. We look up and there is a real live lake in front of us. We started screaming that the doors are open, but he couldn't slow down, so he started screaming at us to close them or the car would be submerged. From the back seat, Megan holds onto my legs while I throw the rest of my body over the seat and out the doors to try to grab them as they are flying and bumping around like mad. It's a good thing she didsn't let go.
The next thing I know, we are on the other side of the lake (and I have no idea how) with all doors securely shut and the rest of the group being portaged over (literally) by the men.
When we were really on our way again, Pastor Herb told us about his negotiations with the locals. He told them in his calm and pastorly voice that humanity comes before money and that we are all on this earth to help each other. He also brought up the fact that the seminary gives money to their local school and is working on building a well there. The old men fought with him but the younger ones agreed. He had them elect a leader and after we were out, he gave that men 10,000 shillings to divide among them, which he said would buy a good morning tea for everyone involved. He left our Tanzanian friend there to negotiate payment for the corn, and he was then brought by bike with the Masaai the last few miles to where we were meeting.
After this the road ended and we were guided through tall grasses and shrubby trees for a few miles by the Masaai to the place where this brand new congregation was located.
And this is just the story of how we got there. I could write a book about the rest of the day with all of the crazy things that went on and all of the social and cultural implications that accompany them.
We set out early for a Masaai village. We had heard that once we left the main road the going would be even rougher than our trek through the mountains, albeit a lot shorter. That was an understatement.
We waited alongside the main road in our landrovers for a while for the evangelist of the church to show up and lead us the rest of the way. Because of all the rain, a good majority of roads were impassible. Pastor Haffermann was quite uncomfortable just sitting there in our cars because the local villagers are hostile to the Seminary folks because they are on the brink of war with the local Masaai. The Masaai are a herding people and live completely off of the income they make from selling their cattle, goats, and sometimes sheep. The grazing land in this area is especially rich, which also means the soil is especially rich. The villagers make their income through farming, and they have broken the soil on Masaai lands to plant their corn. The seminary folk have helped the Masaai take these villagers to court to reclaim the land that is in fact legally theirs, and it looks like they are going to win.
Our evangelist eventually came and he started us down a road that was actually a foot path between 10-foot tall rows of corn. The road was completely covered with water fairly often and the ruts were ginormous. Every once in a while we would come to a complete stop and then the good pastor would floor it and we would fly over spots that looked like small lakes. This all worked quite well until we came to the river.
The view out the window as we approach the river.
Ever been in a river AND a car at the same time? Well I sure have.
I had my eyes closed, but from what I hear, we needed to hit the opposite bank at more of an angle, but that angle would have made us tip. The front of the car was a ways up the bank, but those of us in the backseat were definitely in the river.
When I opened my eyes, I saw the rest of my classmates and professor walking toward us from the rover that had been folowing us. Their eyes were as big as saucers and their mouths were hanging wide open. That told me all I needed to know. We were stuck good, and it had been scary to watch.
The look on Dr. Strickert's face a few moments later from my view out the rear window.
All of a sudden, local people started coming out of the woodwork, and Masaai warriors started showing up on bicycles. I turned around and all of a sudden there was Phil and a bunch of locals and Masaai throwing their full weight against the car while Pastor Haffermann played with the gas. We all had to stay in for the sake of traction for quite a long time. We had our cameras out taking pictures of the Masaai men with their machetes hacking up roots right next to us to put under the tires for traction and the ever-growing number of men messing with this and that to try to get us out. When we got more stuck, the students were forced to bail. One by one a man pulled us through the passenger door and a Masaai warrior grabbed our hands and dragged us up the muddy bank. My shoes were somewhere in the car, so all of a sudden I was standing barefoot in a road with about 100 men, women, and children amidst the ten-foot corn.
The locals were laughing and I figured this was probably the best entertainment they'd had in a long time and would be the story they told for years to come. Then I asked our German friend who speaks Swahili what they were saying. Um, they were chanting "give us money!" The men were telling Pastor that they would only push for a price and things were getting tense.
Eventually the second landrover had to cross over further down the river to try to pull ours out, and mowed down a whole bunch of corn in the process. That made the people real real happy. After a lot more work and a whole bunch of men, Grant was able to pull it out with his rover and Megan and I were climbing back in to get away from the semi-hostile people and get going. Well, apparently we weren't supposed to get back in the car yet. We were both in the way back seat with both side doors open when Pastor Haffermann gunned it harder than ever before. We look up and there is a real live lake in front of us. We started screaming that the doors are open, but he couldn't slow down, so he started screaming at us to close them or the car would be submerged. From the back seat, Megan holds onto my legs while I throw the rest of my body over the seat and out the doors to try to grab them as they are flying and bumping around like mad. It's a good thing she didsn't let go.
The next thing I know, we are on the other side of the lake (and I have no idea how) with all doors securely shut and the rest of the group being portaged over (literally) by the men.
When we were really on our way again, Pastor Herb told us about his negotiations with the locals. He told them in his calm and pastorly voice that humanity comes before money and that we are all on this earth to help each other. He also brought up the fact that the seminary gives money to their local school and is working on building a well there. The old men fought with him but the younger ones agreed. He had them elect a leader and after we were out, he gave that men 10,000 shillings to divide among them, which he said would buy a good morning tea for everyone involved. He left our Tanzanian friend there to negotiate payment for the corn, and he was then brought by bike with the Masaai the last few miles to where we were meeting.
After this the road ended and we were guided through tall grasses and shrubby trees for a few miles by the Masaai to the place where this brand new congregation was located.
And this is just the story of how we got there. I could write a book about the rest of the day with all of the crazy things that went on and all of the social and cultural implications that accompany them.
Friday, May 12, 2006
The Wedding
The auction
The Congregation (click on it to see it larger - I love this shot)
Wedding Decorations
Too many fat Americans atop mud bricks equals disaster
Curious Little Boys
The view from the mountain top church
Everywhere else we went the kids were all over us. These ones just stared and smiled.
It is interesting that yesterday was the fullest day we have had so far, considering that we only did two things - ride in the car and go to the wedding.
We were told that the trip to the village would take about two and a half to three hours. Um, try four and a half. We spent the last two hours thinking we were almost there. The first two miles were on a great paved road. After that we turned off and headed up into the Uluguru Mountains. If you look at a map of Tanzania, we hardly moved an inch, but that is understandable when taking into account the condition of the roads.
We spent four hours each way on a single "lane" dirt path through the mountains. It has been raining here since Monday, so the potholes were massive and the fishtailing pretty constant. The only vehicles on the road were our two landrovers and the "buses" that they use here (think full-size van on steroids) that have so many people stuffed inside that many are hanging out the windows and several more clinging to the top or standing on the back bumper. For the first couple hours there were constantly people on the side of the road who we had to take special care not to hit, as the shoulder was either a cliff, a house, a massive tree, or a herd of goats. It is worth noting that Pastor Haffermann does not break for chickens. Just like my parents and the squirrels at home. My blood pressure shot up every time we went near one! He made more of an effort for the goats however. They got a warning honk.
Imagine that you are inside a salt shaker. Not just any salt shaker, but the kind they have here that are always completely clogged because of the humidity. When people try to salt their food, they shake the dang things like their lives depend on it, just to get a few measly grains out. We were inside that salt shaker for over eight hours yestrerday. We were hitting our heads on the ceiling, landing in other peoples' laps, and once, I was almost launched into the front seat (from the very back). Everybody had to duck because my legs went flying through the air over their heads. I eventually landed facing the back window in my own seat.
The village we went to is inhabited by the "poorest of the poor" as our pastor said. There was nothing, and I mean nothing for many miles. The road we drove in on, which is the only road through the mountains, eventually ends up in a state park that people fly into rather than drive. They live on top of the Uluguru Mountains and Pastor Haffermann simply reffered to them as mountain people. They engage in subsistance farming and are very distrustful of outsiders. At the last church we went to, the people were all over us from the moment we stepped out of the cars. Here they huddled in groups and stared. Chellie brought some little gold star stickers like your elementary school teacher had. I went over to a group of three boys and put one on each of their chests. They smiled at their feet the whole time, but as soon as I walked away, every other little boy in the village was on them, madly whispering and grabbing their shirts to see for themselves. They all got one eventually.
They had a bathroom right next to the church for us to use. It was very new and made of nice brick. I was the first to go in. When I saw the mud floor and nothing else, I was confused. When I saw the 3X3 inch hole, I informed the rest of the group that I did not have the required equipment to aim like that, and promptly went behind the little brick bathroom to take care of business. The other girls followed suit.
The wedding was for two couples. It was a ten minute segment of a full three hour church service in which many baptisms also took place, but it was still a very big deal. The couples all wore outfits cut from the same new cloth and looked very nice. I'm sure it was a big deal to have any new article of clothing around these parts. Afterwards there was an auction (because we were there with our big American wallets) but the big items were a goat and a rooster. Dr. Strickert outbid our pastor for the goat and presented it to one of the grooms. It went for 40,000 shillings, which is about $40. It turns out that man was the one to donate it (a massive sacrifice) and having it returned with a church blessing was a big deal.
Phil won the rooster and gave it to the other couple. Dr. Strickert was whispering the numbers in his ear during the bidding since we have only learned such useful phrases as "I am a mechanic" and"he/she is from Denmark" and not numbers. He ended up making Phil jump from nine to twenty, which provided a lot of entertainment for the villagers and was the highlight of Dr. Strickert's day judging from the look on his face.
Today we are going to the Masaai cattle market. Pastor Haffermann has promised to keep me away from the slaughter area, so hopefully I don't stumble upon anything that will give me nightmares for the rest of my life.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Language School
Yesterday we FINALLY finished language school. For several hour blocks of time throughout the day, we would sit outside under these little huts and repeat after the teacher and conjugate verbs and such. They expected a lot from us and did not treat it like we were only there to put in our 25 hours required for our course grade by Dr. Stickert. So we learned really random things that do not not matter, while never learning numbers, where is the bathroom, etc.
Fortunately Jess, Zach and I had a language teacher who was very easily distracted. The first day, after sitting through the mind-numbing boredom of repeating things we didn't understand for hours, we decided to start running intereference. We began asking every question we could think of and had him chasing geckos with a stick by the end of the day while we sat there and clapped. We followed suit the rest of the days, and while we know less useless Swahili than the other groups, we know a whole lot more about our teacher. His name is Allen and he is working on getting to the U.S. for school this fall. I am going to be working with him on his English writing for the rest of the time I am here to help him prepare for the writing portion of the TOEFL.
It's been rainy and cool here. No complaints about the temperatures whatsoever. I eat about three full meals at breakfast because I like the food then, and pick for the rest of the day. They practice tea time here, so we really eat almost every two yours. It's crazy, and we're certainly not getting any thinner.
Tomorrow we are going out to the bush for a wedding. Should be an interesting time!
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