Thelathini

Dear friends and family,

Well I have just returned to Kigoma. I just landed from Dar Es Salaam after a really extremely hectic past three weeks. Just as an update, I organized a workshop held in Kigomato to train service providers of orphans and vulnerable children (OVC) selected from the entire Western Tanzania region (comprised of Kigoma and Tabora) the week before last. Directly following that was our workshop held in Entebbe Uganda, to train service providers of OVC from various localities of Uganda, Kenya, and Tanzania. As co-organizer/facilitator I didn’t get all my needed rest, however it was all worth it to share a room with people who are actually providing integral services to OVC and their caretakers. I have learned much from actual stories from the field, which we shared with each other, and how participants surmounted the logistical barriers which we each faced in order to get together.
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It has been 69 days since I arrived to East Africa.
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I am not sure how many have heard of the “culture of poverty” theory proposed by Oscar Lewis. I read about it many years ago before I formally decided to study anthropology. I guess by now it has been debunked for many reasons and there are so many other ways to approach this phenomenon. Lewis suggested that there is an actual culture of poverty which can be objectively monitored and which cuts across racial, ethnic, and temporal lines. That those who possess a culture of poverty, which is a somewhat permanent way of being, may differ strikingly from those suffering poverty perhaps only briefly, or who somehow managed to inherit some other protective cultural characteristics which allow them to escape situational poverty. This culture of poverty somehow inhibits one’s ambition, the belief that one can surmount poverty through modes of action with subsequent reasoning choices premised on this outlook. This is an incomplete theory as it does not take into consideration actual glass ceilings which do inhibit economic advancement and the multiple rationalities which people employ to survive some environments. I am also reading a nice book called The Moral Economy of the Peasant: Rebellion & Subsistence in SE Asia by James C. Scott, which talks about how peasants, those of the lower classes in mainly agrarian contexts, consistently make reasoning choices based on a rationality predicated on securing sustenance for the family in the short term, rather than taking larger risks in order to maximize profit in the long term, a mode of thinking which had been considered irrational (versus the so called rational decision-making utilized in market or capitalist economies).

I brought this up because I often wrestle with these types of thoughts during my travels through Africa (or of course the Philippines of which I am very familiar). I remark upon how the UN or Int’l Red Cross, for example here in Kigoma, utilize a variety of methodologies to target the dispossessed and displaced, with full confidence that people who have experienced trauma such as genocide or warfare exhibit many common psychological features—for which these organizations are more or less prepared to encounter. In the United States there are persons who have historically undergone similar atrocities and yet the same methodologies are not utilized. For example in Kigoma, where I work, there are many refugees from Burundi and Congo and even Rwanda. Due to displacement, there are higher HIV rates and higher numbers of orphans. A key question to ask in the first place is--Why are there so many orphans needing to live in NGO or FBO (faith based-org) orphanages? Some answers include a break down of traditional or kin based systems to handle incidental death of caregivers, which has itself been broken down by displacement and to an extent HIV/AIDS. Then ask--Why are there higher rates of HIV/AIDS? Some answers include poverty, yet higher incidence of disease is also a known consequence of internal displacement and forced migration. As a former social worker who served the South Bronx, my hometown, I try to explain to my friends abroad why Black Americans suffer higher HIV rates and whose children flood the foster care system. I cannot help but draw a parallel to our own history of Black American kinship structure breakdown, forced migration, and internal displacement (euphemistically called gentrification) which is presently occurring on a large scale throughout many American cities. I asked the regional director of UNHCR in Kigoma how she felt about my musings and she replied, well the U.S. doesn’t even sign or recognize the Geneva Convention for Human Rights. I knew this much and contemplated the inadequacy of our American Civil Rights polices including our social welfare system, which is much in need of repair. If the international approaches (repatriation, cultural and context based counseling services, acknowledgement of said atrocities) work for those in other countries, why shun the use among our own populations. Cynically, I believe that this type of thinking brings up to the surface too much bad blood and shame for America – that to acknowledge the active tools of exploitation utilized by our historical ancestors against slaves and abused migrants, draws a startling parallel to dictators and warlords of the present day.
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Well I just returned from Kampala via Entebbe and I had a great time there. I love my Ugandan friends, many of whom are like my very own family. I also had some interesting cultural experiences in Uganda and heard some interesting views while there.

One night I went out and was just floored by all the prostitution which I found in this one swanky popular Latino bar in Kampala. It is interesting how subtle cultural cues can be presented slightly off kilter in order to cue a prospective client – I’m available…for a price. Unfortunately, young women who, in my opinion could have been young American co-eds, could be viewed in this cultural context to be prostitutes—as they were dressed “too sexy” and wearing too much makeup, as my friend remarked. All of the prostitutes at this particular bar were black Ugandan women and their clients, or potential clients, were all white foreign men, many of whom appeared to be “average Joe” types, casually dressed or wearing business attire refitted for the night (tie undone, shirt top button unfastened). My friend and I sat at the bar and made many merciless speculations about these short-term couples – oh he has just left his wife at home, look at the hot chick he is with, maybe he has simply grown bored, how else could he get a hot chick like that? And we muttered about another – aah that drunk old man is probably going to simply pass out when he gets to his hotel room and she is going to empty his wallet. And for yet another couple— oh he is probably working on an overseas tour as a development worker and he’s probably just so lonely here in Kampala.
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While I was in Kampala I happened to be watching the evening news and was startled to hear a report that the Ugandan President is presently tackling pervasive child sacrifice throughout the nation. Apparently this practice, which is very active, is done by so-called witch doctors who advise clients seeking wealth to sacrifice a child. A friend of mine told me rumors about several rich persons in town who were thought to have benefited from this practice. I’ve even heard a fascinating tale about a man who is now haunted by the child that he killed, who will not let him sleep and wakes him up each night to get out of bed and make money! Due to this phenomenon, even little boys are getting at least one ear pierced early (and not due to omnipresent Hip-Hop culture) but because the sacrificed child must have never spilt blood prior to the ritual. Parents guard tight their children ever closer these days.
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Tap tap tap – against her thigh. On the topic of HIV and AIDS and why it is prevalent as a heterosexual disease, my musings about higher incidence attribution to being ready or not. At some unspecified hour during the night, for a man and wife who live in a one room hut (commonly) with several children, the man will awaken his wife – tap tap tap against her thigh. He will then mount her with no regards to her state of arousal and without any notion of foreplay. What is the likelihood of transmission via a single vaginal sexual act of intercourse when there are no prior infections – the rate certainly varies according to whether the woman is ready or not.
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I had a tiresome experience in Kampala while shopping at the Owino market. I went to Owino market to buy cheap used practical clothing for my stay in Kigoma. I did not take any photos of my experience as I don’t think I could have managed the camera in the crowds there. Plus all the warnings about rampant thievery got to me, I guess. I wish very much that I could describe it so that one could feel as I did. The market is very large and one can walk at least a couple of hours to explore the entire place. It is located in downtown Kampala. The day I went shopping it had rained a few days before so I was advised to wear shoes that could stand to get muddy. As Owino is an outdoor market, it is prone to being exceedingly hot – due to open spaces at the center where the sun beats down and also due to overcrowding within. Owino is a vast place with narrow walkways and dirt floors and where one can find nearly everything at reasonable prices to downright steals. One can buy dresses, jeans, shoes, spices, vegetables, dry beans, grains and rice, kitchen stuffs, live chickens in cages!, simple electronics, and tourist paraphernalia such as paintings, carvings and jewelry, only you will rarely see a Mznungo (white person/foreigner) shopping at Owino; also there are aisles of seamstresses and tailors inside who will literally make you new clothes. The place is dirty and some places really stink (I mentioned the overcrowding and chickens for sale, above). A friend accompanied me, otherwise I would have been lost in what was seemingly a maze of booths and tiny cramped enclosures. I should have brought a bottle of water so I was unable to shop more than the two hours it took to do a quick walk through the market. I settled on a pile of clothes from which I made the majority of my selections. Several women with the same idea pored over the pile alongside me (and we all were occasionally pushed out of the way by merchants carrying heavy loads on their heads as they passed us in the narrow, narrow aisle). Steadfastly, while sweating, we picked out our selections from among the stained and torn items while the loud chant of the seller loudly called out to us “designer dresses!” I did find some good selections, which I promptly took home and washed. I also bought some jeans and some denim skirts from other vendors which I successfully bartered down.
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I have spent the last few days in Dar Es Salaam. I enjoyed a tour which my friend gave me through the city to the museum, past the memorials throughout the city center dedicated to the African soldiers who bravely fought off the Arab armies, to the city malls where I went to cinema. I wish I could have taken photos of some of my observations from riding the dala-dala or touk touk which were my primary means of transport across the city—or from the ferry ride which I rode to get to Kigambomi beach. I would have photographed the things, of course, which were memorable to me. For example the hot and breezy tropical paradise of Kigambomi with the shade of palm trees reminiscent of a Hawaiian seaside, but which is populated by Muslim women covered from head to toe in conservative colors, some wearing Nikab. Similarly, the tall and lean Massai men who, at one point rode the dala dala next to me. I would have photographed them as they cavalierly and conspicuously stroll throughout the modern city proudly representing their tribal tradition by carrying a spear and wearing beautiful handcrafted jewelry and colorful draped fabric. These men can be seen commonly employed throughout Dar as security guards for hotels and other tourist attractions where thievery is rampant—as they are known to be fastidious warriors.
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Well, last week I also turned 30 (thelathini in Kiswahili). I knew I wanted my 30th to be special and of course it was as I was in Kigoma that day, on the eve of traveling to Uganda and just following the completion of my Kigoma workshop. The day I turned 30 I was sooo tired and went to hang out with my friends. By the way, I have friends now in Kigoma, my closest are dudes: one Tanzanian, one Moroccan and the other Belgian. I have many other friends here and all of them (via movie nights and house-parties) cured my homesickness. Some threw a party for me on this momentous occasion, which was very lovely. Others, the night before, threw me in the swimming pool while I was fully dressed! I am happy to be in Kigoma though it took me a bit longer to become adjusted to the place. Those who called me early on knew right away, listening to my cracked voice, that I was feeling homesick! I still feel pangs of this feeling on occasion and I of course experience bouts of uncertainty and loneliness. But I love learning about the people who are my neighbors and in the process learning much about myself.

Originally posted: Monday, June 8, 2009 at 3:56pm