Last days in Tanzania

I have only four more days here in Tanzania. It seems impossible that I have been here for two months already. Saddly, I have so much to do in these four days that I am sure they will zoom by at neck-breaking speed. So I thought I might spend some time reflecting on my experiences here in the next few posts.

Things that I will miss include:

The wonderfully friendly and extremely polite and sympathetic Tanzanians. I have made many friends here and many acquaintances whose company I have thoroughly enjoyed and will sorely miss.

My fellow teachers at St. Theresia Secondary school and the many fascinating hours we have spent together discussing teaching, Tanzania, religion (too much of this topic for my tastes) the U.S, and life in general. This has truly been an invaluable cross cultural experience for us all.

My lovely students who sometimes, I admit, have made me a little crazy. I know I have shocked them on more than one occasion with my ideas and teaching style, but they have been wonderfully welcoming and open. You will see them at a screening of the movie that the llth graders and I are making and see why I have been so charmed by them.

I will also miss the head massages I get from my students when I sit down with them to do group work or do some filming. On these occasions, there are always three or four hands in my hair kneading, twisting, braiding, exploring this new texture.

The sights and sounds of Tanzania, including the beautiful kangas and kitenges the women wear, the call to prayer and church bells, gospel music and Tanzanian hip hop called Bongoi Flava, seeping from cars and doorways, and the rich smell of fresh fruit and vegetables, and occasionally Indian spices.

The children you meet on the roads who sweetly smile and greet you with "Good morning, Teacher. How are you? I am fine!" all in one breath. This, as much in the afternoon and evening as in the morning. The children here are so delighted to meet foreigners, maybe because we look so odd or because we are novelties here (there aren't many Mzungus in this area). They run along side the cars and vans waving gleefully, yelling "Hello!!" or "goodbye!!". Of course, we always worry they might fall and get hit, so we wave and smile but also yell, "Acha, acha" which I think means get back from the car.

Things I won't miss:

The horrible roads, full of boulders and gullies and gigantic craters. So bad that if you don't hold on to the seat in front you will be tossed off your seat entirely.

The decrepit daladalas that are so packed with people you can barely breathe. Actually, I don't really mind the daladalas that much, it's just that yesterday I rode two that about killed me. On the first, I was one of the people who couldn't get a seat so I had to stand up hunched over another person, folded at the waist. If she had turned her face toward me I would have had to kiss her we were so close. Then another poor soul got on and also had to stand stooped over right next to me. At one point as I mumbled something to myself about the deplorable situation I found myself in, he said "This is Tanzania" When I told him they needed to get more daladalas on the road here in Tanzania, he simply assured me that "It will end eventually" which did not console me in the least. When the daladala stopped again, I thought to myself, "Please God, let someone get off" and instead another person got on and I found myself perched on one leg with an even more contorted posture, I said "okay, this is enough. Let me off!!" I'm sure the people in the daladala thought that I was a silly, soft Mzungu, but I don't care.

On the second ride I at least got a seat, but was only able to half sit on it as there were many people sharing the two available seats with me. We were so squashed in at one point that a fight broke out between two women, forcing me to take two children on my lap so as to avoid fisticuffs. It was sweltering hot and the gears on the van crunched horribly; I couln't imagine how we could make it to our destination, but of course we did, and I felt that I had regained some of my pride among daladala rider.

Later, I was advised not to get on a daladala if I can't get one of the front seats. Sage advice which I will follow assiduously.

I think those are the two things I won't miss here.

No wait, the horrible lack of resources for schools should be on the top of this list. The dearth of books, pens and pencils, rulars, paper, chalk, electricity that children and teachers must endure.

More later