The 7th month hump

Dear family and friends,

Whew. It has been a long time since I wrote to share my Tanzania experience. Well I had a rough patch a while back. I was feeling a bit homesick, but simultaneously wondering about my future and next steps – for example, where will I be after my tenure in Tanzania is over. How long will I/should I stay in Kigoma? I have since crossed that 7 month hump and, I guess I can say that I am newly resolved to stay for a while and, well, perhaps I am acclimated. I have taken on a part-time position teaching at the social work institute in town. This school was founded as an implementing partner of UNHCR to provide social work training to refugees throughout the region. The community, without a local higher education institution asked that they be able to enroll, and the institute sought and received governmental accreditation. My students come from throughout the country from Dar and Kilimanjaro, from right here in Kigoma, and some are refugees from neighboring countries. I teach research methodology in English language, of course, and am training my students for their data collection practicum next semester, in preparation for their ultimate stage before graduation—the writing of a thesis paper. I enjoy teaching and training, it is somewhat of a passion of mine, and I hope to continue teaching wherever fate finds me next.


When I talk of acclimation, it’s been elusive, as things change and transform for me daily. For instance, I came during the rainy season and survived the dry season and it is now thundering and lightning outside my window, threatening to rain – in anticipation of a heavier than usual rainy season to come. I have made great friends and colleagues in Kigoma, only now to say goodbye to them all. Much of the international presence here revolves around the refugee population, which is steadily declining due to increasing stability throughout the region. Most of my friends are leaving next month and in December for their new assignments in other conflict zones and by next March/April, the rest. Some of my friends came to Kigoma as students to collect data and having done so have left or are leaving soon. Only one or two, besides myself will remain in Kigoma beyond March. On one hand you want to make friends, and you do quickly make intense bonds, but then on the other hand, these people like myself, are seeking to assist the neediest, and once they have done so, they eventually therefore must move on. I haven’t quite got the hang of the “ex-pat” lifestyle, and saying goodbye is as eventual as forging friendships with these kindred spirits.


From June to August I, on behalf of my org., hosted three young interns: one from the US, and two from neighboring Uganda. They were quite lovely and the four of us roamed two districts in observation of the care provision process to orphans and vulnerable children. From their observations, and mine as well, I am trying to compose a summary report about the challenges, strengths, and general culture of formal and informal caregiving for this vulnerable population. Many of you have already seen photos of us visiting with organizations, which I shared publicly on my facebook profile. What I deduced is that the people of Kigoma are for the most part ingenuous and dedicated to caring for and educating each child of their community, despite the lack of general social services provision and funding. Additionally, vulnerable children are not generally orphans in the true sense as many have families, but are born to families who are ill equipped to care for another mouth to feed—a familiar concept to many disrupted families in poor neighborhoods of the Bronx, where I served as a social welfare officer. Anticipating the decline of the international presence in the region—as the UN especially assisted with development of the local infrastructure, I am drafting a website to feature the stories and material needs of these service providers to orphans and vulnerable children so that their cause may be known to the wider community of potential investors. By the way, it is relatively easy to make a difference with a bit of creativity. Individuals shouldn’t shy away from become investors and “donors” to distant communities like Kigoma.


On Thursday I heard a disturbing story. I haven’t yet looked further into this issue, but I plan to. One local leader informed me that he seeks a sponsor for his son who was born hearing impaired. This young man is a wiz at computers, his proud father boasts. He can also sign and communicate by writing. He is seeking to complete secondary school and attend university but cannot, because in Tanzania there is no school for handicapped children, including those who are hearing impaired – not one such school! And there is no assistance given to help these children attend schools in neighboring countries such as Kenya, or actually, according to this parent, many other countries in the region have such institutions. He asked me if I could raise some support so that his son could attend school in Cuba or US or Canada or elsewhere in Africa; the countries are too long to list. He said he had done his research and personally petitioned the government for support. The father was understandably emotional and believes that many in his homeland, including the government, would consider his son inhuman. Crazy huh! I was just floored when I heard this story.


This Wednesday is a public national holiday, in commemoration of the life of the late President Nyerere. October 14th 1999 was the day he died. I heard from two elder Tanzanians (one gentlemen who approached my intern and I on the dala dala bus) one day and another elderly lady I am well acquainted with. The gentlemen approached us by saying that when he first studied Swahili he nearly failed the class—but passed with a D. He laughed at his memory. During his childhood – he and every other school educated person spoke English. After President Nyerere and the Independence of Tanzania, there was a resurgence of nationalism that took the form of shedding European imperialism along with its cultures and languages. Those speaking English now had to learn Swahili. My female friend reminisced that when she was a youth she wore fitted blue jeans (pants now unseemly according to gendered standards of dress for modern Tanzanian women—pants can even denote what some might chide as a “loose” woman!) My friend wore her hair in the teased and primped styles of the late 50s and early 60s, listened to the Beatles and other popular music of that era, and of course wore her blue jeans and lil’ bitty skirts. In her words, ‘we did as the Europeans did.’ This included courtship (the ‘dating’ ritual now well outside the limits of the Tanzanian cultural context—not to say that it doesn’t happen, of course), as well as partying and dancing. President Nyerere is widely revered within Tanzanian as he should be and did some amazing things for the development of the Tanzanian nation state – including its expansion and unification with satellite islands off the coast, such as Zanzibar, each having a distinct history quite separate from that of the mainland. These transformations brought about by independence created a national identity by legitimizing traditional values, languages, and cultures of the region—along with the humanity of its inhabitants. Now Tanzanians are trying to balance the heavy load of rich tradition with its practicality. How interesting it is to meet elder Tanzanians who learned English before Swahili, who were adapted to an international culture before a national one.

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I wrote this bit during the month of August: Tonight it is raining! Well it is the third rain for the last three months. It has been heating up pretty much with intolerable sweaty nights. But it is the dawn of the rainy season – now my second – and with it the end of the dry season. The dry season is quite unlike the rainy season in so many ways – the red clay soil turned brown. The tiny creeks and streams dried into sand paths. The horizon to Congo had become obscured and one could barely make out the mountainside just across the lake. The heat, although drier and less humid, became stronger and stronger during both the days and nights. Sometimes during the nights of rainy season, as I can recall, I wore a sweater to bed to guard against the chill. During the last few months it was all I could to not rip off the mosquito net to ensure I received as much breeze as possible. Other things stayed the same – abundant fish to eat from the lake, as always. Swimming in the lake. Mosquitoes and ants. Oh and the one minor earthquake (two brief earth rumbling trembles) during July. Right now I see thunder out my living room window, which faces the lake and hear the lightning.


By the way Congo is back in our Kigoma horizon. From this side of the lake the sunset is a spectacular departure of fluorescent light into the Congolese mountainside.


On a light note, during the month of July I had a little friend visit my home – a little green frog that lived in my toilet bowl. I’m not quite sure how he got there – all I know is that he scared the heeby jeebies outta me one evening. I will spare the details—as I thought I was a lost character from Aliens. Cute, sure, but no one feels relaxed using the toilet with a living creature swimming around inside. Anyway, it was pretty much impossible to remove him. So we flushed and he swam back up, we flushed again and again, and finally one day he returned to whence he came. Poor little guy. I heard him hit the pipes all the way down. I think he lives in the septic tank, if he is still around…


During the month of Ramadan every night one could hear the sound of drums beating from the surrounding hills. This was the sounding call of those pious communities of Kigoma awake already at 2AM, so that they may prepare and eat a meal in anticipation of their daily fast. Beautiful drumming, though it was an unresolved but welcome mystery for me, a frequent insomniac, for some time.


I almost forget to talk about the monkeys. Were you to visit Kigoma you would notice that monkeys are abundant. These cute creatures are curious about their human fellows and are sharp as a whip. Be careful when you visit our beaches to guard your bags and your snacks. Don’t be surprised if, while eating, monkeys surround you in a group as large as six or seven awaiting your leftovers, or perhaps to intimidate you into abandoning your meal!


A note to ponder – several local folks have told me this, “My dear, we are all standing in cue” which is meant to be a condolence you say to someone after the death of a loved one. Meaning: we will never know when it is our time to go, in the end.


Until next time,

Love

Christie