Kwa Heri Arusha (Good bye)

The word kwa heri in Swahili means goodbye.  Not the kind of goodbye that's like, see ya later but more of a semi-permanent goodbye, atleast one that lasts for a while.  When my American friends and family ask me, "How was living in Africa?"  I struggle to give a simple response because the answer is complicated.  The best I've come up with so far is, "It's been a growing experience."  Which is completely true.  The Becca that entered Tanzania is not the same Becca leaving.  It's easy to get caught up in bitterness with corruption, misplaced values and the dirty, inconvenient life that comes with living in a third world country.  My relationship with Arusha, Tanzania felt like a friendship with someone who needs a lot of attention, can be quite draining, but has been with you through thick and thin, so you're in this together.

So here is my list of how I'm thankful for my time in Tanzania:

1. infrastructure: Arusha, I spent two years despising your lack of roads, road rules or even anyone to enforce those rules.  The fact is, this experience has made me ridiculously thankful for these things coming back to the states.  When someone complains about getting a driving ticket, I'm not nearly as sympathetic as they'd like because I've experienced life without those and it's chaotic and dangerous.

2. greetings:  Tanzanians looooove to greet each other.... and everyone.  It's considered polite, and being polite is very important.  So, walking down the street is really just a long string of greetings.  The difficult part, when you're white, is differentiating between those people just trying to be polite and those trying to sell you something.  Can be quite tricky.  Anyway, re-entering into a mostly "nongreeting" culture, I seem to miss it.  The scripted interaction that allowed me to connect to strangers in a pleasantly friendly way.

3.  simplicity:  While some things weren't simple, like buying a pair of shoes, walking down the street or dealing with the bank, many things were.  Finding local produce was easy- walk to the lady on the corner selling some.  Taxis were cheap enough that a DD wasn't necessary.  No identification was needed for everyday activities.  Ever.  There were very little testing requirements in schools, so I was barely monitored in what I did in my classroom.  Most of us owned the cheapest phone available in Tanzania and were perfectly happy using it for what it was intended for- calling and texting.  I am constantly perplexed by the technology leap that has happened in the states over the last few years.  Smart phones have become cheaper and available to most Americans of various income levels.  There is a culture around them- one where people readily pull out their smart phones to communicate, search and check statuses from other pieces of technology while they're out socializing with other human beings.  I am unapologetically offended by this behavior.  This lack of etiquette disgusts me and I am worried for this new generation's ability to communicate face-to-face with another human being in the near future.

4.  fashion:  The attire in Arusha was simple- cover your knees and be respectful.  Other than that, everything else was optional, including matching and cleanliness.  I pretty much rotated through my few "weekday outfits" and then had a couple favorite outfits I enjoyed relaxing in that became my weekend-wear.  When I walk into an American clothing store, I have the strong urge to wear sunglasses.  WHERE DID ALL THE NEON COME FROM?  The 80's are clearly back.  In full force.  I walk into stores like The Gap and Target and want to ask the sales people, "Is it Halloween already?"  This severe change in style feels like a cruel joke to me.  I came back to the states to acquire quality, non-retina-burning clothing.  Not apparel that could direct air traffic.

5.  what's important:  I found that life in with Tanzanians can be simple and organic.  When you pass someone, you should greet them.  There's a lot of teasing and joking in the culture.  When someone needs help, they ask and when I needed help, people were more than willing to go out of their way to help out.  I could walk to most of my friends' houses on my school campus as well as go on safe runs in the mornings because of our trusty security guards.  Going out to meet friends meant we texted each other the plan, met up, put our phones away and had a conversation.  I enter the states and immediately become a consumer.  The shopping experience (food, clothes, medicine) is extremely appealing here in the states.  I like to call it a multi-sensory experience.  While buying things is fun, and you can get quite a buzz from "retail therapy", it's actually not very important at all.

All in all, I'm glad I spent a couple of years in Arusha, Tanzania.  My experiences there have grown me into who I am today.  And I'm okay with the outcome.

Touched

Today, I saw Tanzania's raw beauty as well as its nasty unfairness.  A few friends and I set out to hike to a waterfall.  None of us aware of difficulty level of the hike, we figured it would be an adventure.  We hired a taxi to drive us to the furthest point.  On the way, we drove through a typical Tanzanian village, with mud huts and children playing with trash as toys.  As we got close, we drove down a narrow dirt (with the rain it was mud) road, with 5 feet high dirt/grass banks to keep us in our little alley.  We literally skidded our "bumper car" to our destination.  We did get stuck in the mud a couple of times, but there was nothing to worry about.  Literally, the village children wait around this part of the neighborhood for the taxis to get stuck, then they push the car out and ask for a much-deserved tip after.  It was incredible to see this informal system at work.

When the car stopped and we were told that it was time to start the hike, we got out and were greeted by a little army of about 8 street kids, most of which were handling machetes like a pro and all children were wearing ripped, mud-splattered and smelly clothes.  Shoes were optional.  One of the kids knew one of my friends from a mentoring situation, so we were immediately at ease with this group of children.  But the interesting thing was that even though they physically were children, we quickly figured out they were anything but infants.  Many of them had run away from home at one point or another and had lived on the streets.

One of the smallest, Alexi, immediately buddied up with me and stuck with me the entire day.  He's 8 years old, but had the confidence of a young man.  At first, I have to admit, while I knew we were safe with these children with machetes, I didn't trust they were altruistic in their want to be helpful.  A lot of interactions in Tanzania between foreigners and Tanzanians involve the Tanzanians with their hand out (figuratively or literally) and the foreigner either giving out of pity or resisting it.  Living here for 2 years, I have seen what giving into this "hand out" mentality has done to the culture and refuse to take part in it.

So as the kids helped us climb down slippery, muddy slopes, I was wondering when the time was going to come when they started asking me for something.  But as time went on, and Alexi steadily held my hand and saved me from falling multiple times by either shielding me with his own little body or telling me where to step or even just using his own amazing strength to keep me balanced, he never asked for anything.  Throughout the hike, I could tell he didn't view our relationship as buddies.  He took care of me.  He seemed to like that role, so I let him.  Holding my hand the entire time, I knew he needed the kind touch of an adult to a child as much as I needed his stabilizing on the rocks and mud.  We definitely had a significant language barrier, but we taught each other words in our respective languages (he was bilingual, knowing Kiswahili and Kimaasai).

As we continued our journey to the waterfall, I decided to see what songs Alexi knew.  Not many, apparently.  He claims that he goes to school where they only speak English, but he can only sing his alphabet correctly until "g."  The public schools (where they still need to pay for school fees and bring their own jug of water to keep the gardens alive) are abysmal.  Anyway, I decided to teach him a few songs, and in those moments in song, I saw the age-appropriate, eager child inside.  That was the only time that he was truly an 8 year old.  The rest of the time, he was far too grown up for his age. Towards the end of the hike, he asked if I had children.  I said "no."  He was very confused because he considered me "very old" to not have children.  I told him that I didn't want children.  He asked "why," to which I answered that I enjoyed my freedom.  He then went to tell me all of the reasons I should have children, including the fact that they will do my dishes and wash my clothes for me.  Clearly, this was his reality with his family, and a typical reality for many Tanzanian children.

As we said our goodbyes, I was sad to leave my "too grown up" friend.  I tried to give him a hug, Tanzania being a handshake culture, with semi-successful results.  As we drove away, I chatted with one of my friends about these boys' living conditions and situations.  They most likely work more than they go to school and there's no system in place advocating for their right to get an education and be protected as children.  It saddened us to really understand the unfairness of the conditions the boys were born into and just how little influence we had over the situation but we were also touched by our experiences with these young, yet incredibly strong, boys with swords.

Commitment

I know I haven't written for a while... a long while.  Somehow, sharing my new experiences and realizations here in Arusha felt burdensome   But I'm back.  With a new commitment.  I have decided to start running regularly, which I haven't done since high school.  The commitment, specifically, is to run 5 days a week for 30 minutes each session.  This past week (my first week), I made it out to run 3 times (one of which was in the rain).  Not good enough.

It's interesting the reasons my mind finds for not running-
"I'm tired."
"I don't have enough time."
"I need to file my nails."

Pretty much anything to get me out of this torture.  But I'm learning to listen to these excuses my brain gives me, like patiently listening to a complaining friend.  Then I say, "Well, those are all nice reasons, but I still need to run."  Unfortunately, I was only semi-successful in getting out of the door in my running shoes.

Recently, I have been working with the secondary students at my school on "being authentic with your word."  In other words, do what you say you're gonna do.  Clearly, I need some improvement in this area when it comes to doing what I say I'm gonna do FOR MYSELF.

This, however, is a common cross-cultural frustration between Tanzanians and Westerners.  For example, I ask the head guy that fixes things around campus that there is a large wasps nest right outside my classroom and that it is a danger to my students as the wasps have been coming into my classroom.  He replies, "Sure.  It will be gone by the morning."  Sounds like he's going to do it, right?  NOPE.  It has now been 5 days since I told him and it's still there.  Wanna know why?  He gave me such a convincingly detailed response but Tanzanians rarely ever say no.  They say yes and just don't do it.  So how do you know if someone will actually do it or not?  I haven't figured that one out yet.  My strategies, many times, included frequent reminders to do something until it gets done.  Now, in the states, if you reminded some to do something on a daily basis, it would be considered rude and condescending.  People would ask, "What?  you don't think I can do my job?"  But here, it's just a way of advocating for what you need.

I also come across this issue with the students.  I ask them a question and they are masters at telling me what I want to hear.  I figured it out quickly at the beginning of the school year when I was asking my students why they follow certain rules or whether they like something or even whether they will get something done.  They gave me these glowing answers that any parent would be proud to hear their child say.  But here's the thing- the kids don't mean it.  I have had to break any child, young or old, that crosses my path of that nasty little "pleasing" habit because it makes the entire conversation fake.  I recently expressed my frustration to a secondary boy in his last year of school about why students felt it necessary to tell teachers what they wanted to hear instead of the truth.  He said, "If you tell the truth in a Tanzanian school, you'd get punished.  So we tell the teachers what they want to hear and don't do it."

So these youngsters, trained from an early age, grow up to be Tanzanian adults that tell everyone what they want to hear instead of the truth.

Honesty

Last week, as I was walking into the gate of my school/home, the askari (security guard) asked me if I had been eating a lot.  When I attempted to clarify in my terribly small amount of Swahili what he meant, he made a hand motion that made it abundantly clear- he was telling me I had gained weight.  Actually, he was the third person to tell me something of that nature since I had returned from vacationing in South Africa.  The first was the cleaner at my school who literally said "You got fat" in her limited English.  The second was another teacher who told me she could tell I had a good time from my cheaks (as she pinched them).  Now, let me be clear.  This is not the first time my weight has been the topic of conversation.  Once in a while, when I put some effort and wear something flattering to school, the local teachers have a debate when one typically announces "You've lost weight" and someone else jumps in quickly, "No she hasn't."  See, losing weight here is typically seen as a bad thing.  It means you can't afford food or that you're possibly sick.  Having some meat on your bones is a sign of wealth and health.
Now, coming from a culture that is obsessed with losing weight, I have a mixed reaction whenever this comes up.  I know that they are trying to be complimentary and polite (which is considered very important in this culture) when, in fact, it is the opposite of polite in my own culture.  After much though about these comments that come up once in a while, I have decided to enjoy them instead of feeling insulted (which is how my western peers tend to feel).  The fact is, I, as an American, feel a certain way about weight loss and weight gain because of socially imposed messages and standards.  I can choose to separate myself from that and enjoy the fact that people here are trying to be nice and make me feel good.

On a different perspective on honesty, I was told  a few days ago from a woman who has lived here for 30 years about a basic difference in westernized culture and Tanzanian culture.  This difference came up when I was discussing a local who has been teaching for many years and and still needs to be reminded not to leave the children unattended.  The amount of reminders and honesty she is asking people to have with her on a DAILY BASIS is astounding in my point of view.  But the very basic difference of cultures is that my westernized American culture is a guilt culture and Tanzanian culture is a shame culture.  While I would be guilty leaving the children unattended, and thus choose not to do that, she does not feel there is anything wrong with what she's doing unless she is caught.  That's the difference.  Americans have much more of an internal compass and Tanzanians tend to have more of an external compass of "right" and "wrong."  Also, an interesting dynamic is created with this shame culture.  When interacting with Tanzanians, as an outside, I must be careful in certain interactions, such as bargaining.  If I am too loud or forceful, I could potentially shame a vendor.  This is still a dynamic I am exploring  How do I get what I believe is a fair price (or even figure out what's fair) without dishonoring the person I am dealing with?  What am I able to say in public and when is it necessary to give simple criticism (like, "You spelled that wrong") in private?  

South Africa... Not really Africa.

I am finding that it is easiest to write about my travels in a certain country after I have left that particular place.  It helps with perspective, I guess.  Spending my December vacation (it’s summer here) for three weeks in South Africa was…. relieving.  It gave me a break from the sticking-out, the harassment, the smells and the chaos. 

I was travelling with my friend Linda.  She was a great travel partner- we have opposite Travel Handicaps.  I joked that neither of us would have made it through this vacation without the other.  Where I had the memory, she had the sense of direction.  Where I was organized and could find where we put things, she made all of the plans for our lodgings… but couldn’t always find where she put information.  Where I was the driver, she was the map reader. 

South Africa, particularly the Western Cape, was the most civilized, polite country I have ever visited.  Even on the road, there are unspoken rules about passing politely, where the Passer puts on their flashers to thank the Passee and the Passee flashes their lights to say “you’re welcome.”  Well, that couldn’t be accurate.  In South Africa, they rarely say “you’re welcome”- they say “It’s a pleasure.”  How pleasing is that to hear?  Waiters, taxi drivers, the guy who holds the door for you.  They all say it.  It is such a pleasant response to “thank you,” I’m thinking of bringing it back to the states and starting an It’s A Pleasure Revolution.

I was also impressed with the state that South Africa is in with regards to how they take care of their poor.  In some towns, they were neon-vested men who would help you park.  They were energetic and tried to be as helpful as possible, even when no help was needed.  Then, when you returned to your car, they’d show you how they watched over your car to make sure no one scratched it or hurt it in any way.  Then, we learned, the expectation was to tip them the equivalent of 12 to 50 cents.  This is how these towns help to feed and employ the poor.  Linda and I fondly named these guys our Parking Angels.

In general, Linda and I spend our vacation leisurely driving from one end of the Western Cape to the other.  We saw breathtaking landscapes, little shanty towns on the side of the road (they euphemistically call “informal settlements”), meeting friendly locals that didn’t judge us for being American, being disappointed from some hostels and absolutely enchanted by some of the small town guest houses.  We stocked up on wine from our wine tour and drank it each night before dinner.

One activity that Linda and I were looking forward to was the Cape Town Minstrel Carnival.  It is, essentially, a tradition that has been carried on since slavery, when the blacks were only given one day off:  January 2.  It is, essentially, a huge parade that is put on by different communities in and around Cape Town.  Linda and I were blown away at how many people came out to see this, but when we looked closer, we realized that the only other white people there were also tourists.  The crowds were so thick surrounding the streets, Lind and I had to search hard to find a peep hole.  Each act consistently started with small children with a lot of spunk and energy.  These kids weren’t shy.  Then a big band full of horns and drums followed with spirited dancing and mind blowing face paint.  Apparently this goes from about noon to 10 PM, or later (said some).  Each group wore matching outfits with brilliant colors and umbrellas to match.  It was really interesting being at such a large event put on by and for the community.

Shortly after watching that event, Linda and I flew "home"- back to Arusha.  Arriving back at 2 AM, and having an hour drive back to campus, I reflected on my experience for the past 3 weeks and how it felt to be back.  I have to admit, it felt good to have something familiar to return to.  There was a mild sense of "home" that I felt on the drive from the air port.  There was also a sense of anticipation of the harassment, chaos, funky smells and how I am going to truly make this rough-around-the-edges place, truly, my home for two years.

Side note:

If you are reading this, I would LOVE it if you would comment!  Knowing that people are reading, and enjoying, my blogs will help me to write more often.  When you don't say anything, it feels like no one is reading.  It would brighten up my day to hear your thoughts and reactions!

trapped

My experience in Arusha, for the past 3 months, has been difficult. 

The thing that has come most easily:  teaching four year olds

The thing I am still trying to find:  community

I decided, upon arriving in Arusha, that I wanted to find a community outside of my school community.  I have found this much more difficult here than in other places I have lived abroad because the Arusha community tends to run in tight circles, having to almost unnaturally force your way in.  These tight-knit communities are an understandable reaction to the constant turnover of volunteers and travelers on safari that blow through town on a weekly basis.

Going out in Arusha can be tricky.  Whenever plans are made, and a bunch of us go out, I find myself wandering away from my mzungu friends because I am frankly embarrassed to be with such a large group of mzungus (white people).  There are clear assumptions made about me as a white person living in Africa, made by Africans, that are difficult enough to combat and side step the effects of these assumptions.  Butto arrive with a whole group of us?  I might as well wave my white flag (no pun intended).  Common assumptions about the Whities include:

-they are entitled to our money

-we don’t mind having our personal space and right-not-to-be-touched violated often

-we make better babies (literally told to me)

-we can take these poor African men away to a better life

-they are entitled to our money

A co-worker once told me:  The men that want to talk to you are not the men you want to talk to.  What a terrible irony.  Notice I’m only addressing socializing with men.  The community of Tanzanian women is actually very tight and can be quite difficult to break into.  But don’t worry, I’ve been working on it.

Now let’s talk about standards of beauty.  I’m just going to say it- I am a white girl trapped in an African woman’s body.  The men LOVE it here.  I had one guy tell me I looked just like his wife.  Yep- she’s African.  The men went nuts when I was in Zanzibar and now they’re absolutely crazy here as well.  The women I know that have thicker bodies here get FAR more attention than our skinnier friends.  It just blows my mind how women traditionally seen as a beacon of beauty in the states aren’t looked at twice here because, frankly, they don’t enough meat on their bones.

Now, with all of this local attention, you might be wondering what I’m doing about it. Even though I love to “shop locally,” I have not met anyone that meets standard.  There is a statistic floating around the expat community of how many men would meet “westernized women’s” standards like: faithful, honest, doesn’t text 20 times a day, not jealous.  They say that one percent of the local men have these qualities.  When someone finds a good man from Arusha they are even referred to a part of “The One Percent.”  So, there you go.  The likelihood of finding love here is most likely… one percent.

Feels Like Home To Me

I've been home (the US) for a week after being abroad for 14 months.

First meal:  In an airport restaurant.  Ordered nachos with extra guacamole on the side.  Surprised that the guacamole wasn't avocado, but just green mush.  Gross.  Meal came within 5 minutes of ordering it and the bill came 2 minutes after I finished eating.  All of it happened so fast, I wondered if it had happened at all.  Holy crap, American service.  Take a chill pill.

The following meals:  I overate at each and every one.  I have been uncomfortably full since I stepped back in the states.  So, in a truly American way, eating has become much more of a recreational activity than a survival mechanism.

First shopping experience:  First of all, Americans forget that shopping is really a complete sensory experience.  Over time, our senses get used to this overstimulation and it becomes an everyday experience.  But for the out-of-touch, it is very overwhelming.  The smell of perfume, the light pop music playing from invisible speakers, all clothes easily displayed within reach, the comforting lighting.  I would have been happy just walking around, singing to American music and touching all of the soft clothing.  Everything was so visually appealing.  Good job, Mall Design People.  I was successfully lulled into a shopping daze.

Things I am constantly surprised about since being back:

• Everything and everyone smells good.  All of the time.
• Everything is so orderly.  People stand in lines.  Cars stay in their lanes and drive the proper way.
• Food choices.  Oh, how I missed you, Salad Dressing Section.
• Music I can sing along to playing in public places.  Which I have done.  Quite loudly.
• How ABSURD commercials are (TV and radio).
• The ease at which I can order things and get EXACTLY what I want.
• How well I sleep on comfortable mattresses.  And how common they are.

During my last few weeks in Zanzibar, I was definitely ready to go home.  By "home", at the time, I was just thinking about the US in general.  But just having arrived in Atlanta a few hours ago, I realized the "home" I fantasized about was, actually, Atlanta.  Interesting how I identify myself with a place called "home" even though nothing I own is here except the vast majority of my friends.  This is the place I found myself as an adult in the "real world."  This is where I learned how to pay rent on time, go to work when I didn't want to, take part in community beerfests and be so familiar with a place I can go on autopilot after being away for over a year.  Abroad, when asked where I was from, I told people that I grew up in Miami, went to college in Connecticut and taught in Atlanta.  Yes, I said all of that because I identify strongly with all 3 places.  But it is Atlanta that feels like coming home to an old, familiar friend.