One Week No Power from Kigoma

Dear friends and family,

First, I think I am getting over my addiction to technology. The entire of last week my home had no power, which was not incidental. My home is adjacent to the fancy new hotel in town and down the road from the Regional Commissioner's home. The prime minister came to Kigoma last weekend and everything was transformed in my little neighborhood. There were sweeps by security agents, the little dirt roads were blocked off. And, most jarringly, my power was taken in order to ensure the hotel had a continuous supply. You see, whenever the hotel's power supply goes off, and I hear their generator come on, I start to look for candles--that is how in sync our power supply had been. However, the hotel enjoyed the best power last week, while the prime minister dined there daily. Tee hee, I did enjoy when the power briefly cut out on one of the prime minister's luncheons, so that he could experience a taste of REAL life in Kigoma. But, of course, that brief time without power (and with a generator at the hotel) pales in comparison to my entire week without power and without a generator. So, I learned how to cook on the Giko stove (kerosene little burner) like a pro. I can cook chapatee (not sure how to spell), rice pilau Tanzanian style, and mchicha (local spinach) all on my little kerosene burner.

Also, my companion Mama Nema left. I accompanied her to the airport to Dar on Friday. I don't want to talk about it. But I am getting along just fine going all around on my own now.

Now I want to share with you some brief anecdotes.

Yesterday I hung out with my newfound “secular” friends which are the folks, in my age range, who are working for UNICEF, UNDP, Red Cross Japan, International Red Cross and several where I am not quite sure where from but other various Spaniard, Belgium, Dutch aid groups. We had quite a house party – and I won't write any further about that! They get together quite frequently and folks are welcoming and chill. It was my first night to join the debauchery because...

The Friday before last Mama Nema and I made the long journey to Kasulu. It took me a couple of days to recover. The day began with a friend of ours who took us, very early in the morning, to the main road so that we could hitch a ride to our destination. This would be in lieu of the public buses, which we were encouraged to avoid if possible. Apparently the public buses speed down treacherous roads, are often dirty, and carry up to triple occupancy, and (occasionally result in death, as one of the Ministers died in a bus accident just last week.) Anyhow, we tried to get a ride unsuccessfully for two hours, after which a group of people heading to a conference in Kibondo offered us a free lift. They dropped us off in Kasulu district, north of my home, and adjacent to two of the biggest refugee camps of the region where we attended our meeting with the district social worker. He explained that he was able to in effect create the dept. of social work for Kasulu district just last year after receiving his degree in social work. Unfortunately though even though there is a strong need, and there are many nationals educated in public health and social work, many of these valuable positions remain unfilled.

We have discovered via our introductions to UNHCR and Red Cross, that it is possible to simply hitch a ride with either when they make their regular trips to Kigoma and Kasulu based refugee camps. Their cars are built for the journey and are, of course, safer and more comfortable than some other means of travel.
...
I learned the methodology by which modern day missionaries enter the community. First, a couple (husband and wife) accompanied by a translator and three locally trained preachers (from the local Bible College) travel into back country, where there are no roads. Actually, the number of preachers to accompany varies according to the number of villages intended to travel to. This caravan travels into territory where few non locals have entered and seeks out places, especially where there is known “witchcraft.” They travel through perilous roads, actually non-roads which are mere footpaths, often through bamboo forests. As I have been informed, the bamboo is knocked down by the front of the car advancing, and at the back the bamboo springs back up, so that the car is completely surrounded at all times by the menacing bamboo. This journey can take at least 18 hours PAST known districts such as Kasulu (which I mentioned above.) Once arriving in a village the couple will simply say to the local tribal leaders, God knows that you are here. God has already told us your worries and your concerns. God cares for you, which is why He sent us to you. Please allow me to tell you about Him. This is always a bit jarring (I would just imagine) to the villagers who, according to the missionaries, ALWAYS allow them to introduce Jesus Christ. The missionaries set up a double sided screen and everyone in the village watches the “Jesus Story” in Swahili (up to 10,000 viewing at once.) Afterward stories from the Bible are shared, Bibles are left behind, the local pastor is left behind too (to now live at his new home forever) and the missionaries promise to return with supplies as well as a team who will build the missionaries a school. Some time in the upcoming next months “teams” of other missionaries return to the sites with shoes, clothing, medical supplies, and supplies for building a simple school. The community may be mobilized in one day to make thousands of mud bricks so that the next day building of the school commences.
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Corruption at the Tanzanian National Bank, where upwards of billions in local currency had been stolen, presumably by those bankers at the top of the chain of command. (The newly constructed 4 star hotel next to my home was established by a former top tier manager at the Tanzanian National Bank.) I was told this particularly disturbing story. There was an official who worked at the Bank who was extremely wealthy. A married man, of course, with a family. On his front lawn were kept dozens of the fanciest cars. He would woo a young woman with the promise of a car, which he would likely give to her, along with large sums of money. After he was through with the woman he would say – now use this money to buy medications because I have HIV. This man is now imprisoned due to fraud relating to Bank embezzlement.
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Someone who I know shared with me this story which gave me a look deeper into the culture of orphans and widows. “What would happen to your children had you died?” is what I asked the woman, after her husband passed away. A child who loses a father has to contend with extreme stigma here. If you are one of the fortunate who is enrolled in University and your father dies, you can look forward to alienation from your friends who now consider you a potential liability, because if your father died, you must be heading into poverty, for what can your mother do for you? When you enroll for the next semester your mother must try and get an uncle or male friend to co-sign your application, because a woman would not be considered able to maintain your school fees. Male relatives may feel legally entitled to inherit the wealth of the deceased so that they can oversee the management of the children and the wife. Of course, this is how true orphans can be borne, because these self-serving persons have no genuine intention of caring for a bunch of children that are not theirs. The house may be sold and the wife and children now become homeless and penniless. In the case of my friend's tale, the ending of the story was a happy one because the magistrate yelled at this “uncle” to get out of the courthouse as the oldest son was already a young man and the mother had shown her ability to manage household affairs. The local courthouses are now acutely aware of attempts to exploit widows and so now try to ensure that their courthouses no longer produce true orphans en masse.
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This particular story, which happened to a woman I know here is terrible really. She has a total of 5 minor children, 2 of whom live with relatives, as she is very poor, 2 of whom live with the father and well, at the beginning of the story she was just finding out she was pregnant with the 5th. This woman was visiting her children in Eastern Tanzania when she called her husband here in Kigoma to share that she was pregnant. He told her that he did not want her anymore and denied that the child was his. He warned her never to return. Something pressed on this woman's heart which encouraged her to return to her husbands home. When she arrived she found that her husband had married his new bride at the Church the day prior. He began to beat her until she fell unconscious and when she awoke she was at the hospital, where she remained under psychiatric evaluation for 3 weeks. It is understood that her husband beat her because he had told the pastor at the Church that his wife had died so that he could remarry. The new groom was ashamed that his wife had ruined his lie! When released from the hospital my friend could no longer occupy her former home, now occupied by the new bride, so she moved into a public compound with her baby boy – a place where she can see the stars while she sleeps. My friend and her son, now 4 years old, had been rejected by the father and tormented by the new bride and groom. In one instance when she was at their home they put a poison ivy on her mat that she lay on with the baby. She and the baby suffered badly for the week afterward. My friend has attained a new job, which is rare to come by in Kigoma, and is starting to put on some weight (covering up her visible chest bone). Funny enough after 4 years of suffering the second wife embraced my friend by plaiting her hair in the evenings. The husband and his second wife promised my friend that they will move and leave her the home, so that she is no longer living in the field. It is felt by those who know my friend that through silently persevering through this four year ordeal, my friend has achieved God's glory in the end.

Forgive me for grammer or punctuation as I had no time to proofread.

Love you
Christie

Originally posted: Sunday, May 10, 2009 at 8:07pm