…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.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
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.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
I'm still alive and well
So I bet you're all wondering where in the world I've been and what I've been up to for the past 6 weeks or so. I'm sorry I've been terrible about blogging and sending updates lately. Internet time has been limited (and still is), but I hope those of you who read my blog have gotten updates through parents or other friends or emails or something. This will have to be a quick update, with more to come later (I'll start writing on my computer at site then bringing already written updates to send online when I come to town- the trouble has been that the power generator at my school only started working last week and it worked for about 4 evenings of two and a half hours each before it broke again; there's no other way to charge it in my village, though I can at least charge my cell phone for 30 cents at any barber/salon since they all have solar power, that is if it's sunny out).
First of all, I'm doing really well. There's certainly no need to worry about me. It's definitely a roller coaster of emotions and experiences, but for the most part, things are good. And they're improving, little by little. Every day, I learn more and more Kiswahili and speak more fluently. I find myself expressing thoughts and concepts more easily (especially "I can't give you money because I'm a volunteer and I only make enough to feed myself. I am here to teach at the secondary school..." and so forth).
Also, since school has started, I've talked a lot to the four other teachers and I hang out with them in the office and outside of school every day. I've started to really like them and enjoy their company. The women are still a bit reserved; they like to talk to me but they don't always have a lot to say. The men, who live on either side of me in our own little "neighborhood" (3 houses on the other side of the school apart from the village), are a lot of fun and talk to me much more. They're comedians at heart and they seem like pretty decent guys- one is 23 and the other is 25. They help me with my Kiswahili every day and get a kick out of teaching me their tribal languages (each area in Tanzania is dominated by a tribe with its own language in the same family as Kiswahili but also very different). Even last night, we all walked to the village to get our phones charged and then sat in a "bar" drinking hot milk. When our phones were finished charging (by power generator), we walked/tripped home in the dark, laughing the whole way, and then they invited me to join me for a late night dinner before bed since they had cooked a chicken that day. So it's nice to have some friendships beginning with people my own age.
I do wonder what the villagers think of me, though, always hanging out with men. Is that a bad thing? I never had to think about such a thing before. I think I hang out with them just because men are more confident and so they aren't afraid to come talk to the American and even practice their English sometimes. I guess I'm sort of an "honorary man" in some respects, though- I have a good education, I'm strong and confident, I wear pants when I go to town, I'm not married yet and live on the other side of the world from my parents- these are characteristics women just don't have, for the most part. But anyway, many more thoughts on gender issues to come...
As for school, it opened two weeks ago and I've succeeded in teaching all of two classes of two periods each. And I think that might be more than the other teachers have done. Not even half the students have shown up yet, either, which is the main reason we haven't taught yet. It takes a long time to register everyone and get their school fees (most students have trouble coming up with the $20 required to enter the classroom for the year) and then wait for them to clean up the school environment before beginning with studies. So I sat in the teachers' office at my newly claimed desk for most of the time, chatting with the other teachers (so fun to finally get to know them!) and preparing my order of topics for the year and lesson plans for when I actually start. I also took it upon myself to make the school timetable listing each teacher's schedule for the week. I loved it, since it was like a big complicated Sudoku puzzle to me, and I think the other teachers were glad to be rid of the work! Classes should pick up soon, which I'm really excited about because I can't wait to get to know the students and have them get to know me. I'm technically scheduled for 48 40 minute periods per week, though the school only offers 42 periods per week, and Peace Corps recommends we start with no more than 24 periods per week. So I'm working that out. I'm teaching Forms 2 and 4 Biology and Chemistry, and I really like a lot of the topics covered in these subjects for these years, so I don't want to give any of it up... We'll see.
Otherwise, I'm slowly integrating into my community, meeting people, trying to remember people I've met before, making friendships with the teachers, and continuing to work on my cooking and baking skills with a charcoal jiko (sometimes the banana bread turns out perfect and delicious, and other times the brownies turn out with the bottom 3cm as burnt blackness stuck to the bottom of the pot). I've been taking a lot of naps because of all the activity and stress of being constantly confused about what's going on and what I'm supposed to be doing, but I'm pretty happy these days and starting to settle into life here.
So that's all for now I think- I'll write about funny stories, my Christmas and New Year's celebrations, school, teachers, thoughts, etc. and post them within the next month. I'll continue working on writing letters to everyone and would love to receive mail here! Love you all!
First of all, I'm doing really well. There's certainly no need to worry about me. It's definitely a roller coaster of emotions and experiences, but for the most part, things are good. And they're improving, little by little. Every day, I learn more and more Kiswahili and speak more fluently. I find myself expressing thoughts and concepts more easily (especially "I can't give you money because I'm a volunteer and I only make enough to feed myself. I am here to teach at the secondary school..." and so forth).
Also, since school has started, I've talked a lot to the four other teachers and I hang out with them in the office and outside of school every day. I've started to really like them and enjoy their company. The women are still a bit reserved; they like to talk to me but they don't always have a lot to say. The men, who live on either side of me in our own little "neighborhood" (3 houses on the other side of the school apart from the village), are a lot of fun and talk to me much more. They're comedians at heart and they seem like pretty decent guys- one is 23 and the other is 25. They help me with my Kiswahili every day and get a kick out of teaching me their tribal languages (each area in Tanzania is dominated by a tribe with its own language in the same family as Kiswahili but also very different). Even last night, we all walked to the village to get our phones charged and then sat in a "bar" drinking hot milk. When our phones were finished charging (by power generator), we walked/tripped home in the dark, laughing the whole way, and then they invited me to join me for a late night dinner before bed since they had cooked a chicken that day. So it's nice to have some friendships beginning with people my own age.
I do wonder what the villagers think of me, though, always hanging out with men. Is that a bad thing? I never had to think about such a thing before. I think I hang out with them just because men are more confident and so they aren't afraid to come talk to the American and even practice their English sometimes. I guess I'm sort of an "honorary man" in some respects, though- I have a good education, I'm strong and confident, I wear pants when I go to town, I'm not married yet and live on the other side of the world from my parents- these are characteristics women just don't have, for the most part. But anyway, many more thoughts on gender issues to come...
As for school, it opened two weeks ago and I've succeeded in teaching all of two classes of two periods each. And I think that might be more than the other teachers have done. Not even half the students have shown up yet, either, which is the main reason we haven't taught yet. It takes a long time to register everyone and get their school fees (most students have trouble coming up with the $20 required to enter the classroom for the year) and then wait for them to clean up the school environment before beginning with studies. So I sat in the teachers' office at my newly claimed desk for most of the time, chatting with the other teachers (so fun to finally get to know them!) and preparing my order of topics for the year and lesson plans for when I actually start. I also took it upon myself to make the school timetable listing each teacher's schedule for the week. I loved it, since it was like a big complicated Sudoku puzzle to me, and I think the other teachers were glad to be rid of the work! Classes should pick up soon, which I'm really excited about because I can't wait to get to know the students and have them get to know me. I'm technically scheduled for 48 40 minute periods per week, though the school only offers 42 periods per week, and Peace Corps recommends we start with no more than 24 periods per week. So I'm working that out. I'm teaching Forms 2 and 4 Biology and Chemistry, and I really like a lot of the topics covered in these subjects for these years, so I don't want to give any of it up... We'll see.
Otherwise, I'm slowly integrating into my community, meeting people, trying to remember people I've met before, making friendships with the teachers, and continuing to work on my cooking and baking skills with a charcoal jiko (sometimes the banana bread turns out perfect and delicious, and other times the brownies turn out with the bottom 3cm as burnt blackness stuck to the bottom of the pot). I've been taking a lot of naps because of all the activity and stress of being constantly confused about what's going on and what I'm supposed to be doing, but I'm pretty happy these days and starting to settle into life here.
So that's all for now I think- I'll write about funny stories, my Christmas and New Year's celebrations, school, teachers, thoughts, etc. and post them within the next month. I'll continue working on writing letters to everyone and would love to receive mail here! Love you all!
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
New Version of Cecilia
I think you all know the song, Cecilia, right? If not, look it up and listen to it. We made new lyrics to the song and sang it for our swearing-in ceremony, and I think it explains a lot about our feelings about living here right now.
Chorus 1:
Tanzania, you're breakin' my heart
you're shakin' my confidence daily
Tanzania, I'm down on my knees
I'm beggin' you please to be home
To be home
Chorus 2:
Tanzania, I can't figure you out
you're makin' me feel like a baby
lakini sasa, nina familie yangu
na kila siku 'najifunza
na wewe
(but now I have a family
and every day I learn
with you)
Verse:
Teachin' class in the afternoon
with my students packed into the room
Ninarudi nyumbani
kufua nguo, bado siwezi
(I return home
to wash clothes, but still I can't)
Chorus 3:
Tanzania, 'nakupenda sana
'nakupenda sana, Tanzania
Familia zetu, tutawakumbuka
tutarudi tena kuwaona
Asante
(Tanzania, I love you so much
I love you so much Tanzania
Our families, we will miss you
we will return again to see you
Thank you)
Chorus 1:
Tanzania, you're breakin' my heart
you're shakin' my confidence daily
Tanzania, I'm down on my knees
I'm beggin' you please to be home
To be home
Chorus 2:
Tanzania, I can't figure you out
you're makin' me feel like a baby
lakini sasa, nina familie yangu
na kila siku 'najifunza
na wewe
(but now I have a family
and every day I learn
with you)
Verse:
Teachin' class in the afternoon
with my students packed into the room
Ninarudi nyumbani
kufua nguo, bado siwezi
(I return home
to wash clothes, but still I can't)
Chorus 3:
Tanzania, 'nakupenda sana
'nakupenda sana, Tanzania
Familia zetu, tutawakumbuka
tutarudi tena kuwaona
Asante
(Tanzania, I love you so much
I love you so much Tanzania
Our families, we will miss you
we will return again to see you
Thank you)
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