I'm really just fine without the comforts of America, so I don't really need anything. Nor do I want gobs of stuff to fill my house. If people here can live without it, so can I. But if you're just dying to send me something, I thought I'd write down a few simple, light, and inexpensive items that might just improve the quality of my life (though letters will truly do just fine):
~Rennet tablets (should be pretty cheap) and cheesecloth for cheesemaking (my first batch of mango wine is already brewed and delicious if I do say so myself)
~Mac and Cheese packets (I can get the macaroni here, so you can just send the cheese packet with the recipe to save on shipping)
~anything instant (hot cocoa, cider, soup mixes, etc.- though now I have lots of Crystal Light) to reduce cooking times and making drinking water a more pleasant experience
~maps- I've received a US map and a map of the world, which are wonderful, but if you know me well, you'll know that I LOVE maps and I can spend hours and hours looking at them)
~stickers for grading- this is an excellent gift!
~gifts I might give to Tanzanians
I'll add and make changes to the list as I go and think of any more useful items, so check back here if you're looking for things to send. Also, I can really get all my school supplies and such here for pretty cheap, so no need to send those sorts of things.
As far as packaging goes, things sent in a padded envelope that are under 4lbs will be easiest on customs taxes. Label them "educational materials" or something else very vague and if there's anything expensive, don't report the true cost (because customs taxes are steep! They tried to get me to pay $35 to receive a package that was labeled $100 value- not worth it.). I've heard writing Bible verses or putting religious stickers on packages help them get through easier without any mysterious losses, though I have no proof it's true.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Patience is a virtue
…one which I’m gaining in heap loads every second of every day.
I’ve heard it said that PCVs in different regions of the world gain different perspectives based on their regions. Volunteers in Asia become more philosophical, those n Central and South America become more political, and those who volunteer in Africa gain a sense of humor and an immeasurable amount of patience. When I first heard this in training, I laughed, but I’m beginning to believe it. My friends in Peru, Guatemala, Kazakhstan, etc. will have to tell me about their experiences in the rest of the world, but the Africa part is true. While I’m sure all volunteers gain all of these things, I truly believe Africa gives one both humor and patience. Without these, no one would survive here. Sometimes, to keep myself from crying or screaming in frustration, I just have to laugh and chill.
Like when I get on a bus packed with 5 times as many people as seats and my bags become scattered in whatever nooks are open, and I have to stand in the aisle squished against 5 other people, some women with crying babies tied to their backs and others carrying 4 squawking chickens in my face, for 2 hours on a bumpy dirt road, stopping every 3 minutes to pick up or drop off furniture, luggage, children, people, and animals (including but not limited to goats and chickens) just to get home from a day trip to town. How can you not cry from the stress? You just laugh. And you say “Hakuna shida,” one of the Tanzanian forms of hakuna matata- no problem, no worries. There are plenty of other ways to say this based on region and dialect.
(In fact, someone said “Hakuna matata” to me the other day, and I understood but was confused as to why he said “matata” instead of the more common “matatizo.” A few minutes later, I recognized the line from The Lion King and realized the man deals with tourists all the time and probably uses the phrase often with white people. A sign that I’m really getting used to Kiswahili and I’m no tourist.)
Or when an immediate, emergency transport to town (usually two and a half hours by bus and 45 minutes for a private car) for a visit to the doctor turns into a day long trip followed by two full days waiting for people and broken machines to produce results of tests, each followed by calling the PC medical officer to inform her of the results and ask which tests to get next. I was surprised at how calm I was. My stomach sure hurt, but I sat and waited for African time to pass, sure that things would get done and we’d find the right treatment at some point. After all, Peace Corps has great medical assistance. So you chuckle and chill out because worrying just won’t help.
So rest assured that Africa makes me laugh every day. Have you ever watched a rooster crow? Or little children in primary school march in droves giggly and giddy, imitating the mzungu (white person, or technically, European) that they’re following and shyly asking questions and sneaking smiles? I’m gaining plenty of patience in order to face any situation imaginable.
I’ve heard it said that PCVs in different regions of the world gain different perspectives based on their regions. Volunteers in Asia become more philosophical, those n Central and South America become more political, and those who volunteer in Africa gain a sense of humor and an immeasurable amount of patience. When I first heard this in training, I laughed, but I’m beginning to believe it. My friends in Peru, Guatemala, Kazakhstan, etc. will have to tell me about their experiences in the rest of the world, but the Africa part is true. While I’m sure all volunteers gain all of these things, I truly believe Africa gives one both humor and patience. Without these, no one would survive here. Sometimes, to keep myself from crying or screaming in frustration, I just have to laugh and chill.
Like when I get on a bus packed with 5 times as many people as seats and my bags become scattered in whatever nooks are open, and I have to stand in the aisle squished against 5 other people, some women with crying babies tied to their backs and others carrying 4 squawking chickens in my face, for 2 hours on a bumpy dirt road, stopping every 3 minutes to pick up or drop off furniture, luggage, children, people, and animals (including but not limited to goats and chickens) just to get home from a day trip to town. How can you not cry from the stress? You just laugh. And you say “Hakuna shida,” one of the Tanzanian forms of hakuna matata- no problem, no worries. There are plenty of other ways to say this based on region and dialect.
(In fact, someone said “Hakuna matata” to me the other day, and I understood but was confused as to why he said “matata” instead of the more common “matatizo.” A few minutes later, I recognized the line from The Lion King and realized the man deals with tourists all the time and probably uses the phrase often with white people. A sign that I’m really getting used to Kiswahili and I’m no tourist.)
Or when an immediate, emergency transport to town (usually two and a half hours by bus and 45 minutes for a private car) for a visit to the doctor turns into a day long trip followed by two full days waiting for people and broken machines to produce results of tests, each followed by calling the PC medical officer to inform her of the results and ask which tests to get next. I was surprised at how calm I was. My stomach sure hurt, but I sat and waited for African time to pass, sure that things would get done and we’d find the right treatment at some point. After all, Peace Corps has great medical assistance. So you chuckle and chill out because worrying just won’t help.
So rest assured that Africa makes me laugh every day. Have you ever watched a rooster crow? Or little children in primary school march in droves giggly and giddy, imitating the mzungu (white person, or technically, European) that they’re following and shyly asking questions and sneaking smiles? I’m gaining plenty of patience in order to face any situation imaginable.
A hot shower
When I came to Iringa about a week and a half ago, sick, I splurged on a $20/night safi hotel with a comfy bed, hot shower, Western toilet, soap, mirrors, towels, and omelets with bread and honey, sausages, fresh papaya juice and chai for breakfast. I felt like such a tourist, though I loved speaking Kiswahili to the pleasantly-surprised desk workers, bell hops, and restaurant servers.
But it was oh-so-worth-it, especially being sicker than a dog, and I realized how difficult life in the village really is. I hadn’t had a hot shower since I left the States four and a half months ago. It was heaven. So I decided to stay a second night while I was healing just to experience such luxury a little more before returning to my mosquito-ridden house without electricity or running water, my cold bucket baths every other day, my ever-molding vegetables, my broken charcoal stove, and my foam mattress with a large dent in it exactly the size and shape of my body.
It’s certainly a challenge, but also an adventure and a great opportunity. I’ve never thought for one second that this is not what I’m meant to be doing right now in my life. This is exactly where I’m supposed to be, even if I don’t always feel like I belong or that I know what I’m doing. In fact, usually I don’t. But I wake up every morning and get out of bed to keep trying with my head held high. Someday, eventually, I will truly belong in this community and it will be my home.
But it was oh-so-worth-it, especially being sicker than a dog, and I realized how difficult life in the village really is. I hadn’t had a hot shower since I left the States four and a half months ago. It was heaven. So I decided to stay a second night while I was healing just to experience such luxury a little more before returning to my mosquito-ridden house without electricity or running water, my cold bucket baths every other day, my ever-molding vegetables, my broken charcoal stove, and my foam mattress with a large dent in it exactly the size and shape of my body.
It’s certainly a challenge, but also an adventure and a great opportunity. I’ve never thought for one second that this is not what I’m meant to be doing right now in my life. This is exactly where I’m supposed to be, even if I don’t always feel like I belong or that I know what I’m doing. In fact, usually I don’t. But I wake up every morning and get out of bed to keep trying with my head held high. Someday, eventually, I will truly belong in this community and it will be my home.
It's Possible
I've realized that the US is progressive simply because people say "It's possible." We're always thinking of progression, of development, of opportunities to make our lives easier, more efficient, longer, and supposedly happier. People know that if they work hard, they have the opportunity to do anything they want. We constantly think of the future- our goals, our plans, progression. But do we lose sight of the present in our attempts to make life better later?
Here, it’s the opposite. People live entirely in the here and now - What do I want or need now? What am I doing right now? – so much so that I think it’s hard for them to look into the future and plan. Saving money, valuing education and the opportunity it might bring, inventing ways to make life easier, and planning the development of the country to improve its infrastructure and, again, make life easier are just not prevalent attitudes here. I’m not sure if people just don’t know about these things, if they don’t think it’s possible, or if they just don’t care. Or maybe some combination thereof, depending on who I ask.
One of my goals here is to change these attitudes. I want to tell people there are easier ways; there are things that will help improve life. I want to tell them that these things are possible, that change is possible, and that everyone can make a difference, however small, in producing such change. I want to inspire my students and others I meet to think outside the box and believe it’s possible for each one of them to make the change they see is needed. I want to help people improve their own lives.
Can you tell I’m a Peace Corps Volunteer?
Here, it’s the opposite. People live entirely in the here and now - What do I want or need now? What am I doing right now? – so much so that I think it’s hard for them to look into the future and plan. Saving money, valuing education and the opportunity it might bring, inventing ways to make life easier, and planning the development of the country to improve its infrastructure and, again, make life easier are just not prevalent attitudes here. I’m not sure if people just don’t know about these things, if they don’t think it’s possible, or if they just don’t care. Or maybe some combination thereof, depending on who I ask.
One of my goals here is to change these attitudes. I want to tell people there are easier ways; there are things that will help improve life. I want to tell them that these things are possible, that change is possible, and that everyone can make a difference, however small, in producing such change. I want to inspire my students and others I meet to think outside the box and believe it’s possible for each one of them to make the change they see is needed. I want to help people improve their own lives.
Can you tell I’m a Peace Corps Volunteer?
Contemplation on a Potato Peeler
In America, everything, every tiny little tool or machine, is designed to make life more efficient, and hence "easier." I'm sure you recognize that big machines like dishwashers and washing machines and dryers save a lot of time, and there are useful utilities such as running water (and it's clean for drinking, too!) and electricity (which saves an incredible amount of time cooking, heats water, and of course provides an opportunity for time well used after dark). But you've also got little amenities that make life so much more efficient. For example, a potato peeler. Ever thought about how much easier something as simple as a potato peeler can make your life? Well, after cutting and peeling all my veggies with a dull 70 cent knife for two months (everything must be peeled due to possible contamination of skins by dirty water), I've learned to appreciate such things. Even such a thing as a kitchen counter is a safi amenity, as I do everything from cutting veggies to scrubbing clothes until my fingers bleed and washing dishes with a dirty rag on the ground of my courtyard, seated on a broken plastic stool.
Life is just tough here, for everyone. All time is spent on everyday tasks: washing, cooking, farming, and taking care of the kids (though usually older ones are responsible for taking care of the younger ones- I've seen barefoot four year olds carrying two year olds tied to their backs by a piece of cloth). It takes all day just to survive.
And I wonder, what if Tanzania had all those amenities? Would they have more time to think and progress and provide jobs besides farming (or in some areas, attempting to cultivate dry, nutrient- poor dirt in the hopes of feeding your family and making enough extra for soap and buckets and matches)? Or is it the innovative, optimistic, opportunistic minds of America that make such things happen?
Life is just tough here, for everyone. All time is spent on everyday tasks: washing, cooking, farming, and taking care of the kids (though usually older ones are responsible for taking care of the younger ones- I've seen barefoot four year olds carrying two year olds tied to their backs by a piece of cloth). It takes all day just to survive.
And I wonder, what if Tanzania had all those amenities? Would they have more time to think and progress and provide jobs besides farming (or in some areas, attempting to cultivate dry, nutrient- poor dirt in the hopes of feeding your family and making enough extra for soap and buckets and matches)? Or is it the innovative, optimistic, opportunistic minds of America that make such things happen?
Monday, February 2, 2009
I refuse to give up hope
Sometimes this country frustrates me so much. First of all, Dar es Salaam is a dirty, disgusting, sketchy city with nothing to do. I walked all around city center over the last few days, and while there are a few (expensive) good restaurants, the city is basically just hectic and dirty, without sidewalks or anything interesting to see. Even the harbor and waterfront is dirty and smelly and somehow ugly (I’ve never known that the oceanfront can actually be so awful).
Granted, there are also plenty of good, nice people, which help cheer things up, and I really do love those conversations and interactions which really mean a lot but they're mixed in with not so fun interactions as well. Many men see me as a ticket to America, an inferior woman, so I have to shake those creepers off before I punch them in the face (just kidding). I ended up spending a lot of my time in Dar in my hotel room, and then a PCV friend also came and we watched some movies. I felt so lazy and terrible for lying around not exploring the city, but I'd had enough of that after two days. So I'll be excited to get out of here and back to my village and my town of Iringa nearby, so clean and nice and friendly and easy to get around (by comparison).
Then there was this morning, waiting at the bus stop and then getting on a daladala to try to get to the Peace Corps office. I'd done this a few times last week, but today was extra terrible.
We waited forever for the right bus at this awful huge bus stop, getting blatantly stared at from everyone who passed (the white skin and blonde hair kinda sticks out around here). I've mostly gotten used to the stares, but it still seems disrespectful to me for someone to stare for so long at another person, like I'm an alien from another world. And even when I greet them or smile, they don't respond; they just continue staring, stopped in their tracks. But oh well, I shook it off and got ready to get on my bus.
When the right bus came, I moved towards it along with a mass of people and we waited, chewing at the bit, while the conductor of the bus struggled to hold us back and let the current passengers off first. As the last woman was descending the stairs, the first guy in line broke through the conductor and ran up the steps, triggering a violent gnashing and crushing of the herd behind him to enter the bus. The woman trying to get off the bus got squeezed against the door and cried out in objection and pain, but her cries went unheard amongst the turmoil. As I shoved my way aboard, as politely forceful as possible (my PCV friend braced himself against the door to help me through), someone stepped on my foot hard. I almost lost my shoe as I was pushed onto the bus backwards, carried by the crowd. Luckily, I managed to get a seat and feel a tiny breeze through the window ahead on my way through the hot, sticky city before I arrived at the oh-so-gloriously peaceful (and air-conditioned) Peace Corps compound.
Apart from the sheer stress of such a situation, I wondered why this sort of thing bothers me so much. My PCV friend and I discussed it along the way, and we concluded that we’re just so frustrated with the chaos of this country and the impossibility of changing it. In our lives, we have both always been people to identify a problem, brainstorm the best solution, and believe in the possibility of implementing the solution to change the world (however small and seemingly insignificant that change may seem). Never before have we been presented with problems for which a solution is impossible.
There’s no way that the bus situation described above will ever be fixed because that’s just not how this country works. No matter how much everyone hates that system (or lack thereof), no one will take a step to change it and no one will pay attention to an attempt to change. The person who stands up to try to change will change nothing but his/her own opportunity to board that bus. People simply care more about getting on the bus and trying to get a seat to take them 5 blocks away than they do about the safety of those people or having an easy efficient way of boarding and de-boarding a bus.
And I see this impossibility in faces everywhere. People are always telling me how impossible things in this country are. As much as I want to inspire change here and motivate people to believe in the possibility of change, I, too, get bogged down with despair. How will these things ever change? How can they change?
In the US, most people have the mindset to believe in possibilities, and we have an environment in which change is possible. We constantly look for ways to improve on the current system, to make life better and easier and more efficient, to make more money, to be “happier.” And even though the stress and overwork that results from such an attitude exists, I do think we’re happier. We at least have the opportunity to be happier by choosing not to work too hard and overstress ourselves, while enjoying the beauty of such a small silly thing as a potato peeler (another blog on that later).
But here in Tanzania, there is no system, there’s nothing to understand no matter how hard I try to “figure it out.” Instead, there is chaos and the stress and frustration that goes along with it. How can anyone live at peace with that?
Maybe I’m simply frustrated today and it will pass with time. Maybe I need to find more hope and inspiration within myself and my support network so I can continue working to create that environment of “It’s possible.” Maybe it is possible, but I just can’t see a way right now and I need to keep looking and trying to get through, over, or just beyond the huge mountain looming over me.
I won’t give up on it. I refuse to give up hope. I refuse to stop trying.
Granted, there are also plenty of good, nice people, which help cheer things up, and I really do love those conversations and interactions which really mean a lot but they're mixed in with not so fun interactions as well. Many men see me as a ticket to America, an inferior woman, so I have to shake those creepers off before I punch them in the face (just kidding). I ended up spending a lot of my time in Dar in my hotel room, and then a PCV friend also came and we watched some movies. I felt so lazy and terrible for lying around not exploring the city, but I'd had enough of that after two days. So I'll be excited to get out of here and back to my village and my town of Iringa nearby, so clean and nice and friendly and easy to get around (by comparison).
Then there was this morning, waiting at the bus stop and then getting on a daladala to try to get to the Peace Corps office. I'd done this a few times last week, but today was extra terrible.
We waited forever for the right bus at this awful huge bus stop, getting blatantly stared at from everyone who passed (the white skin and blonde hair kinda sticks out around here). I've mostly gotten used to the stares, but it still seems disrespectful to me for someone to stare for so long at another person, like I'm an alien from another world. And even when I greet them or smile, they don't respond; they just continue staring, stopped in their tracks. But oh well, I shook it off and got ready to get on my bus.
When the right bus came, I moved towards it along with a mass of people and we waited, chewing at the bit, while the conductor of the bus struggled to hold us back and let the current passengers off first. As the last woman was descending the stairs, the first guy in line broke through the conductor and ran up the steps, triggering a violent gnashing and crushing of the herd behind him to enter the bus. The woman trying to get off the bus got squeezed against the door and cried out in objection and pain, but her cries went unheard amongst the turmoil. As I shoved my way aboard, as politely forceful as possible (my PCV friend braced himself against the door to help me through), someone stepped on my foot hard. I almost lost my shoe as I was pushed onto the bus backwards, carried by the crowd. Luckily, I managed to get a seat and feel a tiny breeze through the window ahead on my way through the hot, sticky city before I arrived at the oh-so-gloriously peaceful (and air-conditioned) Peace Corps compound.
Apart from the sheer stress of such a situation, I wondered why this sort of thing bothers me so much. My PCV friend and I discussed it along the way, and we concluded that we’re just so frustrated with the chaos of this country and the impossibility of changing it. In our lives, we have both always been people to identify a problem, brainstorm the best solution, and believe in the possibility of implementing the solution to change the world (however small and seemingly insignificant that change may seem). Never before have we been presented with problems for which a solution is impossible.
There’s no way that the bus situation described above will ever be fixed because that’s just not how this country works. No matter how much everyone hates that system (or lack thereof), no one will take a step to change it and no one will pay attention to an attempt to change. The person who stands up to try to change will change nothing but his/her own opportunity to board that bus. People simply care more about getting on the bus and trying to get a seat to take them 5 blocks away than they do about the safety of those people or having an easy efficient way of boarding and de-boarding a bus.
And I see this impossibility in faces everywhere. People are always telling me how impossible things in this country are. As much as I want to inspire change here and motivate people to believe in the possibility of change, I, too, get bogged down with despair. How will these things ever change? How can they change?
In the US, most people have the mindset to believe in possibilities, and we have an environment in which change is possible. We constantly look for ways to improve on the current system, to make life better and easier and more efficient, to make more money, to be “happier.” And even though the stress and overwork that results from such an attitude exists, I do think we’re happier. We at least have the opportunity to be happier by choosing not to work too hard and overstress ourselves, while enjoying the beauty of such a small silly thing as a potato peeler (another blog on that later).
But here in Tanzania, there is no system, there’s nothing to understand no matter how hard I try to “figure it out.” Instead, there is chaos and the stress and frustration that goes along with it. How can anyone live at peace with that?
Maybe I’m simply frustrated today and it will pass with time. Maybe I need to find more hope and inspiration within myself and my support network so I can continue working to create that environment of “It’s possible.” Maybe it is possible, but I just can’t see a way right now and I need to keep looking and trying to get through, over, or just beyond the huge mountain looming over me.
I won’t give up on it. I refuse to give up hope. I refuse to stop trying.
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