A bridge near my village, with the corn crop firmly anchored in the streambed. Yes, cars and trucks actually use this, though not always successfully, I recently saw one stuck at this very bridge.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Friday, December 22, 2006
Arrival at Site
When I saw my school for the first time, we were traveling down a narrow, steeply declining dirt road. Trees flanked us on both sides as the land rover lurched erratically though always at high speeds over rocks and shallow gulleys eroded by rainwater. It appeared below as the clouds and trees parted, several metal roofed buildings as the approaching land flattened briefly before continuing its decline. "It's beautiful," suddenly popped into my mind and I felt as a father beholding his newborn son must. Usually not prone to feelings such as these, I was all the more surprised when they came, marveling at my own, unexpected melodrama.
The area in which my school is located affords views of startling beauty. A mountainous region, valleys of various size cut into the mostly cultivated, sparsely forrested hills while gray boulders keep watch from the highest, steepest ridges. Looking across the valley in which my school is located, one sees more of these humongous, gray sentinels protruding than one sees trees. Over their tops come thick mists and ominous black clouds, appearing suddenly and descending across the valley with measurable speed. The continue to the West for some 20 miles before arriving at Lake Nyasa. Prior to escaping the valley, they dump their contents at least once but up to four times a day. The area's elevation and other factors keep it relatively cool. Some nights are downright chilly, though there has not yet been any serious risk of a blizzard. I doubt if daytime temperatures have climbed above 85 F.
Climbing for 1 mile up the ridge my school is built into and reaching the crest, one looks out upon Lake Nyasa and can dimly see the shilloueted mountains of Malawi and Mozambique if the clouds permit. Returning one's gaze to the immediate surrounding, one sees the land broken into small plots of cassava and coffee, typically no greater in area than 1,500 square feet. These belong to the "peasants" an adjective applied by my Tanzanian guide. At first I was rather shocked to hear this word, figuring it was relegated to the age of Robin Hood and practice of feudalism. My friendly dictionary, however, notes it's definition as "(in some rural agricultural countries) small farmer," and in such ountries the second derogatory definition seems unknown.
The land is divided in such fashion as several plots are held by a single family. These subdivisions are vital to insure yearly harvests, as the peasants find it wise to do, giving them enough food to make it to the next harvest. As both coffee and cassava take 3 years to reach maturity, a farmer needs to stagger the stage of growth that any one of his plots is at to insure a yearly harvest. This is most important for cassava, as it is the main foodstuff of such peasants, than coffee, which is sold as a cash crop. And so, as one's eyes continue to sweep across the valley, an agricultural patchwork of plots at various stages present themselves, some a rich black spotted with the bright green, freshly planted cassava cuttings, others a darker, waxy, elevated green of mature coffee bushes.
Gazing deep to the very stream or moist riverbed at the foot of these valleys one will frequently encounter corn on every available inch of land up to the water's edge, sometimes even partially submerged after rain has swollen the river's turgid trail. It is here that one may also encounter fish ponds, relatively small resevoirs that divert some of the water, keeping it and it's edible treasures. Looking up, one is then struck by trees of various type standing even among the cultivated land, a strange sight for a Midwesterner accustomed to miles and miles of pure, unblemished corn. Here the trees perform at least three functions: keeping the soil firmly rooted in place, gently shading the coffee crop below, and providing fruit, in the case of banana trees, or a future lumber harvest, in the case of woody trees.
Continuing upward, one finds peasant's homes dotting the hills and showing slight preference for the dirt road, other homes, and small villages. Most have metal roofs, though thatch is not uncommon. Most have dirt or brick floors, though cement floors can be found. Glass in windows and electicity are exceedingly rare: there is no power grid in this part of the country, and few own a generator. That said, this area, while geographcally isolated, is not known for terrible poverty.
When I saw my school for the first time, we were traveling down a narrow, steeply declining dirt road. Trees flanked us on both sides as the land rover lurched erratically though always at high speeds over rocks and shallow gulleys eroded by rainwater. It appeared below as the clouds and trees parted, several metal roofed buildings as the approaching land flattened briefly before continuing its decline. "It's beautiful," suddenly popped into my mind and I felt as a father beholding his newborn son must. Usually not prone to feelings such as these, I was all the more surprised when they came, marveling at my own, unexpected melodrama.
The area in which my school is located affords views of startling beauty. A mountainous region, valleys of various size cut into the mostly cultivated, sparsely forrested hills while gray boulders keep watch from the highest, steepest ridges. Looking across the valley in which my school is located, one sees more of these humongous, gray sentinels protruding than one sees trees. Over their tops come thick mists and ominous black clouds, appearing suddenly and descending across the valley with measurable speed. The continue to the West for some 20 miles before arriving at Lake Nyasa. Prior to escaping the valley, they dump their contents at least once but up to four times a day. The area's elevation and other factors keep it relatively cool. Some nights are downright chilly, though there has not yet been any serious risk of a blizzard. I doubt if daytime temperatures have climbed above 85 F.
Climbing for 1 mile up the ridge my school is built into and reaching the crest, one looks out upon Lake Nyasa and can dimly see the shilloueted mountains of Malawi and Mozambique if the clouds permit. Returning one's gaze to the immediate surrounding, one sees the land broken into small plots of cassava and coffee, typically no greater in area than 1,500 square feet. These belong to the "peasants" an adjective applied by my Tanzanian guide. At first I was rather shocked to hear this word, figuring it was relegated to the age of Robin Hood and practice of feudalism. My friendly dictionary, however, notes it's definition as "(in some rural agricultural countries) small farmer," and in such ountries the second derogatory definition seems unknown.
The land is divided in such fashion as several plots are held by a single family. These subdivisions are vital to insure yearly harvests, as the peasants find it wise to do, giving them enough food to make it to the next harvest. As both coffee and cassava take 3 years to reach maturity, a farmer needs to stagger the stage of growth that any one of his plots is at to insure a yearly harvest. This is most important for cassava, as it is the main foodstuff of such peasants, than coffee, which is sold as a cash crop. And so, as one's eyes continue to sweep across the valley, an agricultural patchwork of plots at various stages present themselves, some a rich black spotted with the bright green, freshly planted cassava cuttings, others a darker, waxy, elevated green of mature coffee bushes.
Gazing deep to the very stream or moist riverbed at the foot of these valleys one will frequently encounter corn on every available inch of land up to the water's edge, sometimes even partially submerged after rain has swollen the river's turgid trail. It is here that one may also encounter fish ponds, relatively small resevoirs that divert some of the water, keeping it and it's edible treasures. Looking up, one is then struck by trees of various type standing even among the cultivated land, a strange sight for a Midwesterner accustomed to miles and miles of pure, unblemished corn. Here the trees perform at least three functions: keeping the soil firmly rooted in place, gently shading the coffee crop below, and providing fruit, in the case of banana trees, or a future lumber harvest, in the case of woody trees.
Continuing upward, one finds peasant's homes dotting the hills and showing slight preference for the dirt road, other homes, and small villages. Most have metal roofs, though thatch is not uncommon. Most have dirt or brick floors, though cement floors can be found. Glass in windows and electicity are exceedingly rare: there is no power grid in this part of the country, and few own a generator. That said, this area, while geographcally isolated, is not known for terrible poverty.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
A Brief Introduction to the Tanzanian Education System
Tanzanian education begins with 7 years of primary school in which Swahili is the medium of instruction for all subjects except English. Six years of secondary education follow, during which the medium of instruction is English for all classes except Swahili class. Testing conducted prior to entering secondary school and every 2 years thins the student population (those who fail do not continue) until the end of secondary school where another test is used to determine eligibility for 3+ years of tertiary (university) education.
The system can be summarized as 7:4:2:3+ meaning 7 years of primary school, 6 years of secondary school (further subdivided into 4 years of Ordinary level and 2 years of Advanced level) and 3+ years at university. Experience indicates that this summary has important exceptions, as would any similar attempt to describe the American education system in a single paragraph. For example, some private primary schools begin teaching students all classes in English only.
When the abrupt shift in language of instruction happens upon entry into public secondary school, many teachers continue to use judicious amounts of Swahili to smooth the transition. It is students in their first year of secondary education who I have been teaching for the past four weeks (this was meant to be a short term assignment in order to provide practical experience prior to site assignment) and I can report both hearing of a significant gap in language abilities from other current Peace Corps Volunteers, and seeing one at the school where I have taught. Within any class of 50 students, a diversity of ability and performance will exist, but such language barriers are especially distressing because in classes this size, more so than performing poorly, I see that some students simply do not understand basic instructions in English. Now, clearly these students have come to class, want to and are willing to learn. Difficulties such as these immediately call for personalized attention which I was frustratingly ill-able to provide during this brief, 4-week introduction to teaching. Perhaps more concerning, I may never be able to provide as much attention as I would want given the size of classes I may find at my site: one current volunteer I spoke with said he had over 300 students in his classes, all told.
At this point, one might shake one’s head and dismiss such a mid-education language transition as foolish. I think that to judge so quickly would be an unproductive mistake, and have instead felt compelled to study the history of the Tanzanian education system to understand and properly evaluate its current state, a task which I consider an ongoing responsibility of mine. I have found the brief history of, current statistics about, and future goals in Tanzanian education which follow to be illuminating.
Forty-one years ago, Tanzania was not so named, a colony of the British. Following independence in December 1961, Tanzania “inherited a system of education which was in many respects both inadequate and inappropriate.”*2* Racial and religious discrimination was quickly brought to an end. As there were 11,832 children in secondary schools, only 176 of whom had made it to the 6th and final year of secondary education, expansion of the system began in earnest. *2*
From such humble beginings, Tanzania has steadily increased secondary school enrollment, from 41,178 in 1970 to 67,292 in 1980 to 150,300 in 1990 to 261,896 in 2000 and 524,325 in 2005. Despite such steady gains, Tanzania has one of the lowest secondary education enrollment percentages in sub-saharan Africa. In the year 2000, only 5.3% of “mainland cohort age groups” (which I take to mean students of appropriate age) attended secondary education (anyone who knows the equivalent statistic from the US, I’d be grateful). Only about one in five students who entered primary school eventually continued at the secondary level. Most effected are low-income, rural students who are often unable to fund the private tutoring which many students rely on for secondary school admission.
Other Peace Corps Volunteers in Tanzania and myself are priveledged to play a small role in the development of the TZ education sysem at a time of rapid expansion. This expansion is to be driven by ambitious goals that will dramatically change the population structure of secondary education by 2010. As seen in the pyramids below, enrollment at secondary schools is to be pushed from 345,000 in 2003 to 2,500,000 in 2010.
*insert*
Many challenges confront this expansion. From 1995-2002 the failure rate among all Ordinary level secondary students in mathematics averaged 73%. In a system where educational improvement is vital, such rapid expansion will make even maintaining the current quality of education a challenge. This can only be done if a corresponding rise in the number of qualified teachers occurs to match the burgeoning student population. Another “key issue is that there are so few textbooks and so little laboratory equipment in schools. Public schools receive only the equivalent of $.61 per student per year to purchase printed references.”*1* The secondary school where I have completed my teacher training, for example, has over 1,700 students but no library, and issuing books for classes seems the exception rather than the rule.
In the face of these and other challenges, the people of Tanzania have taken an ambitious set of goals upon themselves. Peace Corps volunteers from the United States, myself included, feel priveledged to be a part of such a worthwhile cause. By serving as teachers at the secondary level, we immediately perform a much needed service, and are hopeful that many of our Tanzanian students will continue their education at teacher training colleges, themselves becoming teachers, helping to meet Tanzania’s need for trained, qualified professionals.
In the face of such challenges, armed with such lofty goals, it is important to situate Tanzania’s education system in its historical context and take its past successes as reason for optimism. The following quotation from Julius K. Nyerere, Tanzania’s first president, is as relevant today as when written about the Tanzanian education system in 1967:
“It is worth reminding ourselves that our present problems… are revealing themselves largely because of these successes.” *2*
In preparing this I have relied heavily on:
*1*Msuka, Proden, Makota. Peace Corps Tanzania Teacher’s Handbook. 2006.
Especially pages 7-13 and 190-204.
*2*Nyerere, J.K. “Education for Self Reliance.” 1967.
A highly recommended article for anyone interested in philosophy of education.
Tanzanian education begins with 7 years of primary school in which Swahili is the medium of instruction for all subjects except English. Six years of secondary education follow, during which the medium of instruction is English for all classes except Swahili class. Testing conducted prior to entering secondary school and every 2 years thins the student population (those who fail do not continue) until the end of secondary school where another test is used to determine eligibility for 3+ years of tertiary (university) education.
The system can be summarized as 7:4:2:3+ meaning 7 years of primary school, 6 years of secondary school (further subdivided into 4 years of Ordinary level and 2 years of Advanced level) and 3+ years at university. Experience indicates that this summary has important exceptions, as would any similar attempt to describe the American education system in a single paragraph. For example, some private primary schools begin teaching students all classes in English only.
When the abrupt shift in language of instruction happens upon entry into public secondary school, many teachers continue to use judicious amounts of Swahili to smooth the transition. It is students in their first year of secondary education who I have been teaching for the past four weeks (this was meant to be a short term assignment in order to provide practical experience prior to site assignment) and I can report both hearing of a significant gap in language abilities from other current Peace Corps Volunteers, and seeing one at the school where I have taught. Within any class of 50 students, a diversity of ability and performance will exist, but such language barriers are especially distressing because in classes this size, more so than performing poorly, I see that some students simply do not understand basic instructions in English. Now, clearly these students have come to class, want to and are willing to learn. Difficulties such as these immediately call for personalized attention which I was frustratingly ill-able to provide during this brief, 4-week introduction to teaching. Perhaps more concerning, I may never be able to provide as much attention as I would want given the size of classes I may find at my site: one current volunteer I spoke with said he had over 300 students in his classes, all told.
At this point, one might shake one’s head and dismiss such a mid-education language transition as foolish. I think that to judge so quickly would be an unproductive mistake, and have instead felt compelled to study the history of the Tanzanian education system to understand and properly evaluate its current state, a task which I consider an ongoing responsibility of mine. I have found the brief history of, current statistics about, and future goals in Tanzanian education which follow to be illuminating.
Forty-one years ago, Tanzania was not so named, a colony of the British. Following independence in December 1961, Tanzania “inherited a system of education which was in many respects both inadequate and inappropriate.”*2* Racial and religious discrimination was quickly brought to an end. As there were 11,832 children in secondary schools, only 176 of whom had made it to the 6th and final year of secondary education, expansion of the system began in earnest. *2*
From such humble beginings, Tanzania has steadily increased secondary school enrollment, from 41,178 in 1970 to 67,292 in 1980 to 150,300 in 1990 to 261,896 in 2000 and 524,325 in 2005. Despite such steady gains, Tanzania has one of the lowest secondary education enrollment percentages in sub-saharan Africa. In the year 2000, only 5.3% of “mainland cohort age groups” (which I take to mean students of appropriate age) attended secondary education (anyone who knows the equivalent statistic from the US, I’d be grateful). Only about one in five students who entered primary school eventually continued at the secondary level. Most effected are low-income, rural students who are often unable to fund the private tutoring which many students rely on for secondary school admission.
Other Peace Corps Volunteers in Tanzania and myself are priveledged to play a small role in the development of the TZ education sysem at a time of rapid expansion. This expansion is to be driven by ambitious goals that will dramatically change the population structure of secondary education by 2010. As seen in the pyramids below, enrollment at secondary schools is to be pushed from 345,000 in 2003 to 2,500,000 in 2010.
*insert*
Many challenges confront this expansion. From 1995-2002 the failure rate among all Ordinary level secondary students in mathematics averaged 73%. In a system where educational improvement is vital, such rapid expansion will make even maintaining the current quality of education a challenge. This can only be done if a corresponding rise in the number of qualified teachers occurs to match the burgeoning student population. Another “key issue is that there are so few textbooks and so little laboratory equipment in schools. Public schools receive only the equivalent of $.61 per student per year to purchase printed references.”*1* The secondary school where I have completed my teacher training, for example, has over 1,700 students but no library, and issuing books for classes seems the exception rather than the rule.
In the face of these and other challenges, the people of Tanzania have taken an ambitious set of goals upon themselves. Peace Corps volunteers from the United States, myself included, feel priveledged to be a part of such a worthwhile cause. By serving as teachers at the secondary level, we immediately perform a much needed service, and are hopeful that many of our Tanzanian students will continue their education at teacher training colleges, themselves becoming teachers, helping to meet Tanzania’s need for trained, qualified professionals.
In the face of such challenges, armed with such lofty goals, it is important to situate Tanzania’s education system in its historical context and take its past successes as reason for optimism. The following quotation from Julius K. Nyerere, Tanzania’s first president, is as relevant today as when written about the Tanzanian education system in 1967:
“It is worth reminding ourselves that our present problems… are revealing themselves largely because of these successes.” *2*
In preparing this I have relied heavily on:
*1*Msuka, Proden, Makota. Peace Corps Tanzania Teacher’s Handbook. 2006.
Especially pages 7-13 and 190-204.
*2*Nyerere, J.K. “Education for Self Reliance.” 1967.
A highly recommended article for anyone interested in philosophy of education.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Monday, November 06, 2006
Hopes
In my first entry, I wondered about whether I would be able to find people with whom I could connect: true friends. My familia has taken me in as one of their own: walking around town with me, explaining many facets of Tanzanian culture, giving me a bed, my own room no less, suffering through my attempts at Kiswahili, preparing meals for me, teaching me to prepare meals for myself in the future, unexpectedly driving me to school in the morning, and I could go on… Soooooo, though Morogorro may be extremely different from where I am sent to teach for 2 years (still have not yet been told, will be told in 2 weeks), it has filled me with optimism. Isolated as this as yet unknown location may be, I know that I already have made such friends, even familia, here in
Howl at the Moon
All is silent. Suddenly, a single cry pierces the night, and a contagion of echoes begins, as the sound spreads, surrounding my family compounded on all sides. I had never questioned what might cause dogs to howl at the moon. But the sight of these mangy creatures during the day, each rib standing out on a barrel shaped chest, skin pulled tight in hunger, makes all the more plausible my dada’s claim that it is not loneliness that causes these sharp-than-deep cries, which always and only have come in large numbers, but hunger.
Gongo Party
Passing through a darkened, dirt floored, dirt walled hallway, a metal door is open and a hanging sheet are thrown aside. WE enter another dirt framed enclosure. Two old women are dancing while smoking cigarettes. Against 2 walls of the 15x15 foot room, which curves up at the sides, and even more in the corners, giving me the feeling of standing on the lip of a mud bowl, sit 10 men each on 2 benches. Clothing in different stages of tatter but similarly dusty, the men do not visually separate from their surroundings with any immediacy. On this low-lying bench they look dejected, faces watching or glazed over in states of stupefaction. The eyeballs of one are oddly rolled upward in his skull as his mouth hangs open. An acquaintance comes forward, speaking with us excitedly. I look down and see his 2 children whom I have seen about the neighborhood on several occasions sitting in this very room where these men sit and these women dance. I am told gongo costs 250 shillingi (<25cents)>
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Monday, October 23, 2006
Dinner with the Maasai
Among the Maasai there is a tradition where the mother of a daughter who marries into a Maasai family cannot visit her daughter or her daughter’s new home until that daughter returns to visit her mother’s home. On Friday evening, I was privileged enough to see this return visit of a now-married daughter to the home of her mother. First let me explain that a fellow Peace Corps volunteer is staying in this home for his home stay, and that the father of this family is a good natured fellow with whom and in whose presence I am known for and to practice my Kiswahili with reckless abandon or concern for the consequences of a complex language wielded by a brain with 4 weeks of experience and a tongue further impaired by a bottle of Tanzanian beer (Safari brand).
At my previous visit to this home, such Kiswahili-by-trial-and-error resulted in hilarious consequences, though I cannot lay claim to the most memorable quotation from that visit. A fellow Peace Corps Volunteer intended to remark, “Ninatoka Marekani.” (I am from America
The time which had elapsed since their daughter’s last visit home is the subject of some confusion. I was told she had not been home since June from another confused secondary source (my language coordinator, who also attended), but it was unclear if this meant she had not seen her mother for 4 months or 16 (this being October). This married woman brought with her a group of women numbering 6 in total, the oldest of whom dressed in fabric of the same purple-burgundy pattern, and a three month old son. I asked, in blundering Kiswahili, why no men had come, and learned that such was tradition.
Formal introductions were made before the assembled group, and light conversation followed. Sitting beside the returned daughter, I learned that she spoke 4 languages: Kiswahili, English, Kimaasai, and another tribal language. A brief ceremony began in which the daughter sat upon a stool and had her head and shoulders covered in patterned cloth. She then stood, and the same was done for her mother. Due to conversation, obscured line of vision, and general lack of knowledge of the significance of this ceremony, it should be noted that I may have neglected or created from nothing elements of this ceremony that are of central symbolic significance. Apologies.
Briefly thereafter and for reasons unclear to me, the two female members of our four member language group (the four white attendees of the party) began trying on the beautifully crafted necklaces of the Maasai women. I will not describe these necklaces further because I could not do them justice, but to note their large size and opulence. At this point, feeling neglected, I announced, “Ninaomba nguo.” (I request clothing.) Without further ado, I one purple burgundy cloth of same cut was tied over my shoulder, soon after followed by one about my waist. Yet I felt something was missing, having heard that all Maasai men carry knives. Announcing “…na kisu?” (…and knife?) I was soon brought a kitchen knife by the father of the home, and pictures were taken.
I then offered my flannel pattern collar shirt to the returned daughter, arguing with gestures that cross cultural exchange was in order. This offer was met with a terse “Hapana.” (No.) which I thought little of at the time. As night fell, water was passed in a pitcher, right hands were washed (the left hand being generally regarded as dirty, not only among the Maasai of Tanzania, owing to its task of wiping on visits to the bathroom. It is thus excluded from all dining activities, including the passing of food.). Bowls were heaped with baked bananas, stewed bananas (bananas are more akin to potatoes when cooked unripe, and surprisingly have very little sweetness when prepared in this way), meat, pilau (a dark rice mixed with meat), and watermelon. The Maasai declined to use the spoon and instead used the right hand for all consumption, a habit that is widely practiced in Tanzania
The meal completed, the beer given to all present was not enough to break linguistic and cultural barriers, and frequent, heavy, prolonged silences fell on the assembled group. Ever the wrecking ball of cross cultural exchange, I rose to the occasion and, knocking down seeming indestructible barriers, began attempting to say anything that came to mind, regardless of linguistic complexity or intelligibility, in Kiswahili. These included:
-Explaining to those present the merits of eschewing the term “Kiswahili” in favor of “The Kis” (pronounced Keeezzzzz), which sports far fewer syllables and is, to my mind, far easier on the ears.
-Communicating my level of language ability by noting that my language teacher was “tikitiki maji wa Kis” (watermelon of Kis) while I was, comparatively, “chungwa wa Kis” (orange of Kis), size being analogous to linguistic competence.
-At this point I was unable to help myself and, after reviewing previously assigned fruit ranks, attempted a joke at the expense of my fellow Peace Corps Volunteer Kris, assigning him the relative rank of “harage wa Kis” (bean of Kis).
Though I did see the Maasai present laughing from time to time, most of the laughter seemed to be on the side of my 3 fellow volunteers, our language coordinator, and the father of the family.
The dark walk home through winding dirt roads strewn with potholes prompted reflection. Our language advisor pointed out that, at a ceremony with much significance placed on clothing, my offer to the returned daughter to wear my shirt (that of a man, and not her husband, in front of her husbands mother, no less) might have been seen as inappropriate rather than good-natured dress-up. This may have explained the manner in which the offer was received. I was also informed that my attempt to communicate linguistic level by fruit analogy may have been frustrated by my final assignment, harage meaning not only bean, but also being a euphemism for the clitoris. It is unclear to me now how many of the visiting Maasai were privy to this information.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
My Tanzanian Family
A father, mother, two brothers, and three sisters live within the same family compound as I, the newest member of the family. The walls of the home by no means delineate the boundaries of the family, however. The cast of relatives is too large for me to know in the brief ten-weeks of my stay, even though many of them live in the houses immediately surrounding ours. Kiswahili reflects this broad conception of the family: Uncles on my father’s side of the family are known as baba mdogo (literally: younger father) and baba mkubwa (Elder Father), and a similar structure is found on the mother’s side regarding Aunts. A close family friend can even be called dada/kaka (brother/sister), and many families, including mine, have housegirls who have effectively become members of the family (though they do earn a salary).
Domestic Life
Kutupa takataka -or- To take out the trash
Gathering the accumulated refuse of the week, mostly plastic bottles and papers amassed in a plastic bag, I told my host brother (kaka) that I needed to take out the trash. We went to the kitchen door, he entered, and returned, much to my surprise, with a box of matches. Exiting our home from the rear, we went to the edge of a steep hill, which quickly descends to a small river. Atop this hill lies our backyard of about 200 square feet. Placing the bag of trash on the ground, kaka lights it on fire. The bottles heat and each in turn gives a sharp sigh of relief as the heated, trapped air is finally released. The paper to ash, the bottles only half melted, “Done,” kaka states with a tone of finality.
Kufua nguo –or- To wash clothes
In a bucket, that is. No electric washer or dryer. It is just as well, power in Morogoro is sporadic right now. A lengthy drought has starved the largely hydroelectric powered circuits of this country recently. Its severity has disrupted business as usual (kaka, a taxi driver, needs a certain electrical instrument to fix the tire of his car, but without electricity can only wait…) and even prompted a downward revision of expected economic growth for the country as a whole. The generators on the main road in Morogoro are silent, humming, or growling depending on the day and one’s proximity. Thankfully, washing all clothing out of 5 gallon buckets frees us from this dependency. A certain violent, repetitious hand motion is used to tear filth from all parts of one’s clothing. The experience is notable to one familiar with electric washers for the abrasions it will create on inexperienced hands, its lengthy duration, the quantity of water used, and its disposal. Pouring the soapy, dirty water into a drain, it is promptly carried outside of the family compound via pipe straight into the small river out back. I had never really questioned where
Kuoga -or- To Bathe
Again, from a bucket. ‘nuff said.
Monday, October 02, 2006
The results are in!
The Effect of 1 Liter of Tanzanian Tap Water on the Unaccustomed Stomach: Dysentery!
Preceded by 4 days of diarrhea.
Results: Now solidified.
Conclusions: Supports the idea that unfiltered water is unsafe to drink. Though not a part of this study, boiling and filtering of water may reduce chances of such illness.
The Effect of 1 Liter of Tanzanian Tap Water on the Unaccustomed Stomach: Dysentery!
Preceded by 4 days of diarrhea.
Results: Now solidified.
Conclusions: Supports the idea that unfiltered water is unsafe to drink. Though not a part of this study, boiling and filtering of water may reduce chances of such illness.
Immediately into the terminal, a certain heaviness in the air, a thicker moisture. A faint, acrid odor. “That smell means it is beginning” I say over my shoulder. Shuttled quickly on unlit streets of Dar es Salaam to a gated compound, my group of 40 Peace Corps teachers breaks for sleep.
Unsure where the compound begins and ends, I start jogging in the night down a dirt road. Surely walls must enclose the entire compound? ¼ mile along, the trees on my left part, reveal a hulking, concrete skeleton that once was or was once meant to be 4 stories. There is no gate in sight, no retaining walls, no people, and the road is now unlit. The fence at the roadside has gone from rock mortar to barbed wire to underbrush. Time to turn around. Running back I glance left and a figure suddenly materializes. Dark as the night, wrapped in blackest clothe, only subtle navy stitchwork and the whites of eyes gave hint. The eyes are watching my jog, silently tracking, the body statue still. I must have run by this person not a minute ago, completely oblivious, believing the road abandoned. Jog on... Jog on...
This first night there is a certain taste to the air in Dar es Salaam. My nearest analogy is the scent in the Reptile House of Brookfield Zoo. Heavy, stale, moist, it becomes a presence. Gravity feels weightier.
Desperate for air, I throw open the window of my sparse, lonely single. Within minutes, a surprising buzz, and the discovery that my room in now swarming with company. I quickly pull the screen over the window. Silly me, I forgot about those pesky mosquitos. Thankfully my bed is decked in sumptuous bridal vale to keep the malaria out. Lala salama (sleep in peace).
Eyes fly open to mournful, plaintive wailings. A distantly broadcast voice welcomes Muslims and any other in earshot into a new day. As it rises and falls in measured, rhythmic pace, my watch glows 5:05. Even as the nearest voice ceases, other, more distant voices from other directions take up the call, rise and fall in their own right.
Unsure where the compound begins and ends, I start jogging in the night down a dirt road. Surely walls must enclose the entire compound? ¼ mile along, the trees on my left part, reveal a hulking, concrete skeleton that once was or was once meant to be 4 stories. There is no gate in sight, no retaining walls, no people, and the road is now unlit. The fence at the roadside has gone from rock mortar to barbed wire to underbrush. Time to turn around. Running back I glance left and a figure suddenly materializes. Dark as the night, wrapped in blackest clothe, only subtle navy stitchwork and the whites of eyes gave hint. The eyes are watching my jog, silently tracking, the body statue still. I must have run by this person not a minute ago, completely oblivious, believing the road abandoned. Jog on... Jog on...
This first night there is a certain taste to the air in Dar es Salaam. My nearest analogy is the scent in the Reptile House of Brookfield Zoo. Heavy, stale, moist, it becomes a presence. Gravity feels weightier.
Desperate for air, I throw open the window of my sparse, lonely single. Within minutes, a surprising buzz, and the discovery that my room in now swarming with company. I quickly pull the screen over the window. Silly me, I forgot about those pesky mosquitos. Thankfully my bed is decked in sumptuous bridal vale to keep the malaria out. Lala salama (sleep in peace).
Eyes fly open to mournful, plaintive wailings. A distantly broadcast voice welcomes Muslims and any other in earshot into a new day. As it rises and falls in measured, rhythmic pace, my watch glows 5:05. Even as the nearest voice ceases, other, more distant voices from other directions take up the call, rise and fall in their own right.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Name: Greg Haman
Peace Corps Assignment: Secondary Education (Science) in Tanzania
Departure for Orientation: Sept, 18, 2006
I'm feeling very anxious right now, kind of a combination of apprehension and excitement with a pinch of nauseau at times. Kind of like standing at the edge of a cliff and looking over.
Peace Corps is half the commitment that college was, in terms of duration. But there are so many unknowns making it difficult to fathom what I will find in Tanzania that it feels like jumping off a cliff into the darkness.
A recent addition to this analogy is me wearing a parachute as I jump, making it less morbid.
Questions that come to mind and answers-as-best-I-can-right-now:
Can we keep in touch?
Email will probably be best. My access will depend on my location, and whether my village has electricity, etc. Nonetheless it is probably best to email because I've heard it might take a month for post mail to arrive, if it does at all. I have an address here that I am told will forward letters to me all through my term of service:
Greg Haman, PCT
Peace Corps Training Site
PO Box 9123
Dar es Salaam, Tanzania
Are you really gone for two years?
27 months, technically, if you count three months of training in Tanzania. However, I am at liberty to return home. To do so I will need to use my vacation days, which may or may not accrue, at 2 per month, and pay for my flight home which would cost over $1000. Sooooo, we'll see....
Will your village have electricity?
Most volunteers are sent to areas without electricity.
What will your dwelling be like?
Peace Corps has promised at least a tin roof, no thatch. Beyond that, maybe with a family or in the school compund.
What will be the English-speaking ability of your students?
Their primary education, like our K-6, is in swahili, and they switch to teaching in English for secondary level.
What attitudes will your students have? Will they respect you? What is expected of Tanzanian teachers, and are these expectations and the measure of a successful teacher different than those in the US?
I read somewhere that Secondary Education was a priveledge and not many have the opportunity. That's about all I know here.
What will you do when Peace Corps is over?
I'm really hoping this experience will help me decide if I would prefer to get a PhD and do research science or get an MD and do medicine. Peace Corps encourages side projects in HIV/AIDS so I hope to get some clinical experience during breaks from school or somehow gain a better understanding of health-care in Tanzania. At an abstract level, I think it would be amazing to practice international health in underserved areas, but I've not even had a taste of what it would be like to be a medical doctor on a daily basis. I guess we'll see...
Will I become terribly ill or have frequent bouts of intestinal distress?
This is among the least of my concerns because beyond taking standard precautions I feel like it's largely outside my control. But I'm still curious if it will take me time to adjust to their cuisine, both in terms of taste and possible infectious agents. I didn't have any trouble while traveling South America for 10 weeks prior to departure, and toward the end of that trip I was TRYING to get ill, buying foods from street vendors and indigenous women through the windows of our bus. But I didn't get very sick there...
How quickly will I learn swahili?
I now know three phrases. safari=journey, kaka=brother, hakuna matata= no worries. I'll be curious to see how quick I can build from this meager selection.
Will I be able to make friends who I can trust in my village, and how long will that take?
Big Unknown
Peace Corps Assignment: Secondary Education (Science) in Tanzania
Departure for Orientation: Sept, 18, 2006
I'm feeling very anxious right now, kind of a combination of apprehension and excitement with a pinch of nauseau at times. Kind of like standing at the edge of a cliff and looking over.
Peace Corps is half the commitment that college was, in terms of duration. But there are so many unknowns making it difficult to fathom what I will find in Tanzania that it feels like jumping off a cliff into the darkness.
A recent addition to this analogy is me wearing a parachute as I jump, making it less morbid.
Questions that come to mind and answers-as-best-I-can-right-now:
Can we keep in touch?
Email will probably be best. My access will depend on my location, and whether my village has electricity, etc. Nonetheless it is probably best to email because I've heard it might take a month for post mail to arrive, if it does at all. I have an address here that I am told will forward letters to me all through my term of service:
Greg Haman, PCT
Peace Corps Training Site
PO Box 9123
Dar es Salaam, Tanzania
Are you really gone for two years?
27 months, technically, if you count three months of training in Tanzania. However, I am at liberty to return home. To do so I will need to use my vacation days, which may or may not accrue, at 2 per month, and pay for my flight home which would cost over $1000. Sooooo, we'll see....
What part of the country will you be in? Will the school be rural?
Tanzania is 3x the size of the United kingdom. I will be told my location several weeks into training. Most volunteers are sent to rural areas.
Will your village have electricity?
Most volunteers are sent to areas without electricity.
What will your dwelling be like?
Peace Corps has promised at least a tin roof, no thatch. Beyond that, maybe with a family or in the school compund.
What will be the English-speaking ability of your students?
Their primary education, like our K-6, is in swahili, and they switch to teaching in English for secondary level.
What attitudes will your students have? Will they respect you? What is expected of Tanzanian teachers, and are these expectations and the measure of a successful teacher different than those in the US?
I read somewhere that Secondary Education was a priveledge and not many have the opportunity. That's about all I know here.
What will you do when Peace Corps is over?
I'm really hoping this experience will help me decide if I would prefer to get a PhD and do research science or get an MD and do medicine. Peace Corps encourages side projects in HIV/AIDS so I hope to get some clinical experience during breaks from school or somehow gain a better understanding of health-care in Tanzania. At an abstract level, I think it would be amazing to practice international health in underserved areas, but I've not even had a taste of what it would be like to be a medical doctor on a daily basis. I guess we'll see...
Will I become terribly ill or have frequent bouts of intestinal distress?
This is among the least of my concerns because beyond taking standard precautions I feel like it's largely outside my control. But I'm still curious if it will take me time to adjust to their cuisine, both in terms of taste and possible infectious agents. I didn't have any trouble while traveling South America for 10 weeks prior to departure, and toward the end of that trip I was TRYING to get ill, buying foods from street vendors and indigenous women through the windows of our bus. But I didn't get very sick there...
How quickly will I learn swahili?
I now know three phrases. safari=journey, kaka=brother, hakuna matata= no worries. I'll be curious to see how quick I can build from this meager selection.
Will I be able to make friends who I can trust in my village, and how long will that take?
Big Unknown
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