The Best Birthday Gift :)

This is going to be a super short post because I just posted one, but I figured since I’m still on break, I should take advantage of the free time I’ve got and give you all another story.  Last week, on March 30^th, I turned 23… so yeah, I’m now in my mid-20s officially. CRAZY!  That particular Friday was the last day of our term, so Cat and I only had to go in to work for a few hours for our staff meeting, and by 1:30 we were home.

I have been teaching guitar lessons to a few of the students in Standard 7, and so when we got home, there were about 6 boys in that class hanging around near our house. We let them in to visit and spent the bulk of the day with them. I worked with a boy named Wenceslaus on his chord techniques as he added 3 more chords to his guitar knowledge, and all of us played multiple rounds of Jenga , scrabble, and Uno. As part of their PDS class, I have been teaching the 7^th graders a Beyonce dance called “Move Your Body” (check it out here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mYP4MgxDV2U), so at one point, we all went outside and did the dance about 5 times. That’s right… 13 year old boys WILLINGLY and ENTHUSIASTICALLY performed a dance. It was mind blowing. We listened to music outside and kicked a football around (and I seriously need to perfect my skills), and when we all came back inside, Wenceslaus strummed a G chord repeatedly on the guitar as everyone sang “Happy Birthday” to me…off key by music-snob-standards, but SO JOYFUL. I don’t remember what I had planned for that day, if anything, but I cannot imagine a better way to have spent my big step into adulthood than dancing, listening to music, and playing games with those students. There are COUNTLESS times during the week when I lose my patience with students, or feel frustrated and exhausted, or simply do not want to be around kids because I’m “just too old for that” now. But it was a really awesome reminder that I don’t have to grow up as quickly as my “age” number suggests. Yeah, I’m in my mid 20s now. Yeah, I can still act like a goof ball with the best of them. I think helping me realize that was the best birthday gift my seventh graders could have ever given.

After the students left, Cait and Shea returned home from a long day at Loyola, and the four of us spent time together. I was completely overwhelmed by the generosity of these beautiful and thoughtful people. The gifts they gave that day in addition to their constant support and presence with me during our shared experience here makes me feel so comfortable and loved in this country… not just on my birthday but ALL THE TIME. Hearing birthday wishes from family and friends back home also reminded me of the love and support that I have from all of you ALL THE TIME. Needless to say, it was a fantastic day, and I want to thank ALL of you for continuing to support me from home with letters, thoughts, and by the simple act of reading my ramblings. You’re the best J. 

The Great Rain Adventure

Greetings friends,

I know it has been awhile since my last post but things have been ridiculously busy. School is going VERY well—we’re finally on our midterm/Easter break, and it’s SUCH a nice, well deserved break for the four of us. My students are AWSOME, and I really feel like I’m starting to connect with my class of third graders. They are so funny and we’re able to joke around with each other more than we were in the beginning. After school a few weeks ago, a boy named James who has made up a handshake with me already, was holding something in his hand and motioned for me to come over. Without even talking, he did that thing with his eyes that said “Teacher, I have the COOLEST thing to give you, you’ll never believe it, come here and give me your hand, this gift is going to be EPIC.” Extending my open hand, he grinned slyly and placed something in my palm, closing my fingers around it and then laughing hysterically and high fiving his friend. James gave me a rock, accented with some clumps of dirt. Teacher got SERVED. I couldn’t stop laughing with these third grade boys, the trick was so silly and juvenile but it is EXACTLY something that a kid would do in the states and it just made me feel good to get that kind of humor here in my new home.

So yeah, things are pretty awesome but I have never felt more exhausted. Don’t get me wrong… in college I had a habit of biting off more than I could chew, running frantically from one event to the other and constantly answer emails and writing papers and yadda yadda. But here’s it’s a different kind of tired. I’m in a routine that I am still navigating and figuring out. As a new teacher, lesson planning does not come easy to me in the least. At school, I’m spending my free periods marking exercise books and trying to remember what I planned for my next lesson and helping students who are confused, so that leaves all of the “next day lesson planning” to when I get home. My responsibilities at home also include cooking twice a week, dishes once or twice a week, laundry when the need comes (and like I mentioned before, laundry is almost a full day’s work), and spending time with my community during community night, spirituality night, and just general presence with each other. But with all this work, I still feel more balanced than I have in a long time. If I spend all afternoon cooking, it’s that much more awesome to eat it with my community that night. Lesson planning takes me a long time because I want it to be GOOD, and there are tons of kinks I need to work out until being “good” at teaching comes more naturally. My community and I just returned from a 4 day retreat in Morogoro and I had the opportunity to reflect on how I’ve been spending my time… and I think I’m ok with it. Teaching will get easier as my feet get wet, so to speak. And I want to be as present for my children as possible.

SPEAKING of feet being wet, it’s raining right now, and my feet were wet just a few minutes ago as I was finishing up a load of laundry outside (my clothes are getting a second rinse in the rain which means I didn’t have to work as hard scrubbing… WOO). But the rain and the dampness of Mabibo today reminded me of a story that I want to share, something that happened a little over a month ago (I know I know, I need to be better at posting frequency, but I guess my style is going to be one MASSIVE post every month or so. Accept it).  The rainy season is just kicking off this week, but during late February, we got a GIANT, flash rain storm one early Thursday morning. I was extremely excited to go to school on this particular Thursday, because the night before I had written a song about prepositions to the tune of Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance”, and I was eager to teach it to my English classes. The rain woke me up at around 5:20, just minutes before my alarm, and I sprung into action throwing things from my desktop into my drawers. Heavy rain + wind = pretty substantial quantities of water flowing into my room and getting anything left on my desk nice and damp. After I had storm-proofed the room, I began covering my soft guitar case with plastic bags to protect it during the 15 minute walk to school. I also was planning on bringing my ipod and speakers to school that day because Thursday afternoons I teach a dance club period, and it’s always more fun with music. I wasn’t going to let the rain ruin my plans, so I also threw the electronic things into a plastic bag and then into my school bag with my many exercise and lesson plan books. Slinging the bagged guitar over one shoulder, my school bag over the other, and wrapping a Khanga (cloth that is used for pretty much everything) around my back, I was ready to go. I looked ready to climb a mountain with the amount of things I was carrying. Cat and I grabbed an umbrella to share and we were on our way.

As soon as we left the house, we started laughing with amazament. The rain was INSANE. Monsoon was the first word that came to mind, and it was difficult to see further than a few feet. I took one step onto to dirt-path-turned-river and immediately resigned myself to the fact that we would be walking through about 6 inches of rapidly flowing water the entire way. Unable to hear anything above the pounding rain, we began our journey. We ran into two coworkers of ours on the walk there, and after about 5 minutes of waiting out the worst of the storm under a lean-to of sorts, we continued, getting wetter by the minute. Our group soon welcomed one of my third grade students, Matthew, who was walking to school as well, with a rain jacket on and carrying his shoes so that he wouldn’t get them ruined. We trudged along, and soon our two coworkers were picked up by a car belonging to a number of our students. It was just Cat, bare-foot Matthew, myself, and a few others students walking the final leg to school. We had to wade through a particularly deep area of road, a narrow strip of about a foot of water, and Cat and I heard a wince from Matthew when we reached the other side. Not a scream or a cry, just a little boy looking down at the bottom of his bare foot, out of which stuck a long, rusty nail. Not really knowing what to do, Cat gave her bags to some students and scooped Matthew up on her back. I could not believe how optimistic Matthew was—I would have been screaming and crying, but he just sang right along to “Old McDonald” when we began a rousing chorus of “Moo Moos”  to take his mind off the fact that he had a big nail stuck deep in his foot. A few minutes later I felt a sinking sensation and realized that I was stuck in the mud, about a foot deep. I was able to pull my legs out pretty quickly, but lost my shoes in the process. Fishing my mud-caked shoes out of the ground, I completed the journey, guitar and giant bag still flopping by my side, holding dripping wet, muddy shoes, and looking pretty comical I’m sure. We reached the school about a half hour behind schedule, and one of the Sisters who ran the school casually plucked the nail out of Matthew’s foot and wrapped it in a bandage. Still, not a tear left this boy’s face.

Gonzaga is a two story building, with class rooms facing into a central courtyard. The classes of the youngest students are located on the bottom floor. The rain was still coming down strong, and the courtyard had already flooded about 6 inches. Grades Pre-Standard  1 to Standard 3 were taken upstairs in case the rain continued to flood, and since my class was included in that mass, I went to join them in a large empty room as soon as I peeled my bags off my back. If you can imagine a room with about 100 students ranging from age 3-9 all dancing, singing, and playing drums to try to be louder than the rain outside, imagine it just a bit louder and just a bit cuter, and that might give you an accurate picture. Still a little confused and flustered about the events of the morning, I took my guitar into the room and just sang and danced with the students for another 10 minutes or so, until the rain stopped and the sun came out. Students were able to return to their rooms just in time for the first period to begin, and the day continued, completely normal. The only difference was that a few students were later than usual, and some did not make it to school.

When a rainy day like that happens at home, our cars can protect us. Our roads are paved to prevent excess flooding. Our windows have glass to keep whatever we have under our roof safe and dry. Walking usually is not considered a viable option. But here, for me, and for many of my students and coworkers, walking IS the only option. Rain can shut down a full day of work or school. No one asks for an excuse if you’re extremely late to work on a “rain day”. Rain can wreak havoc on houses, roads, and feet, in the case of Matthew. Rain can sweep piles of trash into neighborhoods. But rain also is a source of joy. It relieves us from the stifling heat, it provides extra water for planting, drinking, and washing clothes, and it’s a little reminder of how POWERFUL and beautiful nature is. The walk to school that day was nothing like I’ve ever experienced, but when I got to school, the very first thing I felt was the contagious and overwhelming JOY given off by the singing and dancing students. Cat and I agreed later that day that the morning’s adventure was unbelievably rejuvenating, exciting, and peaceful (albeit a bit scary at certain moments). Rain reminds us that we CANNOT control everything as humans, as hard as we try. Nature is just going to go on doing its thing.

LOVE, in many languages

Two blog posts in a day, WHOAAA!!! I’m feeling especially type-y, though, because the keyboard on my laptop is VERY old and the 3edc keys rarely work anymore… .which are pretty crucial letters when you want to express yourself in words. BUT, the keys have been working for the past few days so I wanted to take advantage of that. This post is more of a reflection than an update of “this is what my life is like”.

JVC is a program that focuses on spirituality, simplicity, community, and social justice, which I’ve probably said a bunch of times. Every week, on Monday night we have community night, where the four of us do a community building activity, which can range from watching a movie to carving potato stamps (Shea’s idea, it was pretty epic), to reflecting about certain community-related topics. Wednesdays we come together for spirituality night, which can be just as versatile. Listening to profound music, reading scripture, meditating, or just chatting about an issue and tying it to spirituality somehow are all cool, and the four of us are on a rotation, so each week is different depending on the person leading the night. This past Sunday morning, we decided to have “Spirituality Morning” instead of our regular Wednesday night slot, and Cat led us through a reflection on the five languages of love. Appropriate for the Valentine’s day, TODAYYY. Good timing, Cat.

Anyway, the five languages of love represent the ways that different people show and express love for another person in intimate relationships, friendships, and within a family. It was really amazing to understand and put into words the ways that I show love for other people, and important for me to realize that everyone is DIFFERENT. Learning about how my community mates each express and expect to be shown love was such a beautiful way to understand each other better. Here are the five languages- try to pick out the one to identify with the strongest.

(taken from http://www.5lovelanguages.com)

·         Words of Affirmation

Actions don’t always speak louder than words. If this is your love language, unsolicited compliments mean the world to you. Hearing the words, “I love you,” are important—hearing the reasons behind that love sends your spirits skyward. Insults can leave you shattered and are not easily forgotten.

·         Quality Time

In the vernacular of Quality Time, nothing says, “I love you,” like full, undivided attention. Being there for this type of person is critical, but really being there—with the TV off, fork and knife down, and all chores and tasks on standby—makes your significant other feel truly special and loved. Distractions, postponed dates, or the failure to listen can be especially hurtful.

·         Receiving Gifts

Don’t mistake this love language for materialism; the receiver of gifts thrives on the love, thoughtfulness, and effort behind the gift. If you speak this language, the perfect gift or gesture shows that you are known, you are cared for, and you are prized above whatever was sacrificed to bring the gift to you. A missed birthday, anniversary, or a hasty, thoughtless gift would be disastrous—so would the absence of everyday gestures.

·         Acts of Service

Can vacuuming the floors really be an expression of love? Absolutely! Anything you do to ease the burden of responsibilities weighing on an “Acts of Service” person will speak volumes. The words he or she most want to hear: “Let me do that for you.” Laziness, broken commitments, and making more work for them tell speakers of this language their feelings don’t matter.

·         Physical Touch

This language isn’t all about the bedroom. A person whose primary language is Physical Touch is, not surprisingly, very touchy. Hugs, pats on the back, holding hands, and thoughtful touches on the arm, shoulder, or face—they can all be ways to show excitement, concern, care, and love. Physical presence and accessibility are crucial, while neglect or abuse can be unforgivable and destructive.

After thinking about it for some time, I realized that my love language is TOTALLY quality time. I think my Dad’s might be too, because we spent A LOT of time just sitting outside together during the summer before I left, and I think it was really important to just be present in each other’s day for an hour or so. The weekly phone calls that I receive from my parents while here have been so incredible for me, as have the emails with my mom. I have so much love from home, and that’s how I remember it. Each week, like clockwork, they drop everything and call, and I can ramble about absolutely anything, and they’ll listen. Their presence in that way has already helped me process the initial weeks of this experience. Getting letters in the mail, knowing that someone took TIME out of their day to think about me, mean SO MUCH, and I am overwhelmed by a feeling of love every time I get mail. Before arriving in Tanzania, I felt the most loved when I felt heard, or TRULY seen, by another person. Good conversations, or even just good silent time with my friends, mean the world, and if I am interrupted, or someone is distracted when I want to tell them something important, or even a silly story, it really hurts. I am the absolute WORST person when it comes to buying a gift for someone, but there are few things I love more than making a gift to show someone how much he or she means to me. The time put into the gift, be it a card, a story, a song, a homemade wind chime, or a carefully planned surprise, shows how much I love the receiver of the gift. I often find myself literally following people around, even if we are not in the middle of a conversation, just because I want to be present to them. I’m sure it gets super annoying, but that’s just what I do. When reflecting on when I have felt the most loved, I automatically thought of my time in South Africa, when every morning, my roommate Vanessa would come into my room and eat a bowl of granola and yogurt on my bed while I sat at my desk. Sometimes we would talk, sometimes listen to music, sometimes just sit in silence as I checked emails or read and she crunched on her breakfast. Having someone present, and being present to another person, is probably the most comforting feeling in the world to me. Figuring that out about myself this Sunday was really special, and also very validating.

What was more special, though, was hearing about the ways other people express and receive love. Some people do not like physical touch, while others thrive off of it. I get extremely awkward when complimented, but others express love primarily through affirmations. When I forget to sweep the floor, it is nothing more than a moment of absent mindedness, but to another person it could be understood as a moment of neglect for the community.

I urge you to think about your own love language, and the languages of those you love, this Valentine’s Day. There is a book written by Gary Chapman that goes more into detail about these languages, so definitely read that if you are interested. I wish you all a happy and friendship-filled February 14^th, and know that my love goes out to each of you, even if my presence and quality time cannot.

You know, just being a teacher.

(I started writing this post about two weeks ago, but computer troubles have delayed its completion… but it’s done finally, thanks for waiting.)

“Those who can’t do, teach”- the misconception of a lifetime

I heard it on the movie “School of Rock”, which features Jack Black portraying a washed up musician turned substitute teacher. If you can’t do it, teach it. Har har, how funny, they’re right, teaching can’t be that hard. SHOOT.

Well, you’re looking at a four-week-in teacher, and it is pretty crazy. It’s an amazing challenge and one that I am super pumped to be tackling, but I catch myself just LAUGHING, at myself, multiple times every week simply because I know so LITTLE. Talk about humbling. I teach English to two classes of Standard 3 (third grade), communication and technology (ICT) to two classes of Standard 4, Personality Development and Sports (PDS) to Standard 7, and Religion to two classes of Standard 5. WHEW. Each class has about 30-40 students, and I teach 22 periods per week. So those are the logistics, but let me take you back to the beginning.

A bit of background- Gonzaga Primary is an English Medium school, which means that all of the classes (except for their Kiswahili classes) are taught in English. The students have a very good grasp on the language, which makes it much easier to teach, but I need to remind myself that English is their second language, and patience is the most IMPORTANT thing to remember while teaching. I am the class teacher for the standard 3A class, which means that I am with them every Tuesday and Thursday morning for a half hour, and also whenever a teacher is not in the room to teach them. I’ve really grown to love the little crazies already, but we still need to get used to each other. My accent is THICK to them, and theirs is to me, so sometimes a whole lesson is spent just trying to understand one another. It’s really frustrating, to say the least, but there are also awesome moments of understanding when we just GET each other. The biggest struggle has been discipline, and since Cat and I do not beat the children for misbehaving (which is common here), it’s a little more difficult to gain control when things get out of hand, and for the students to take me seriously. Not that I’d rather be hitting them, but it’s hard when that’s the discipline go-to here. The thing that’s been the most difficult to deal with is how often class is interrupted by a student who will tug on my shirt in the middle of the lesson crying and saying “this one took my pen” and “this one is beating me” and “this one has broken my ruler” and “my pen has stopped working”. It happens at least 3 times a class, usually more, especially in standard three, and at first I was so confused… just DON’T hit people, it’s really simple. After countless gentle talks about how bad it is to steal and hit, I realized how precious and important the possessions of these children are. When I was in third grade, I never really thought to take another person’s pen or hit a classmate for taking mine, because I had a pencil case with about 5 pens, 3 pencils, a sharpener, a set of crayons, markers, and two rulers. If my pen ran out of ink, I could just get another one from my classroom or my mom. It just wasn’t a big deal. Here, the resources aren’t so plentiful, and there seems to be a lot of value in taking SUPER good care of what you have. If a student loses a pen or the ink runs out, they usually do not have 5 extras sitting in their desks, and if they are bold enough to take one from a classmate, they risk getting hit. That’s the way it works. I’m planning on bringing a BUNCH of pens in next week to try to avoid this common conflict, so hopefully there won’t be as many class interruptions.

That being said, teaching is WONDERFUL. The students are so bright and are so happy when they understand something. The most successful lessons have been those that involve creativity and fun, and it took me a little while to finally understand that. These children are YOUNG, and if I just give them notes and class exercises to complete, their attention goes right out the window, and that’s when it gets harder to control. But, singing songs about how to spell “favourite” (yes, there’s a ‘u’, they do the british spelling here), drawing pictures that describe when to use “many, some, a, or an”, and asking students to act out “Brian went to the blackboard, and then jumped two times. Rahim jumped two times, too” and then choosing when to use to, two, or too, it’s just fun. These activities cannot happen all of the time, but yeah, that’s when I’ve felt the most confident so far.

At a staff meeting two weeks ago, I volunteered to take over the Drawing Club, which Gretchen had run during her second JV year. Clubs meet twice a week for 40 minutes each time, and the teacher pretty much has free reign as to how the club functions. Good thing, because I am an awful artist and cannot draw for crap. I enjoy arts and crafts, though, and if you know me at all, you know that dancing is my THING. Totally love it. So now the club has switched to “Creativity Club”. Every Tuesday we’ll do some form of craft, and every Thursday is DANCING. The first Thursday was a little rough… about 50 children came into my room during club time because there was music playing, and I was so focused on showing them a few steps that I did not even bother figuring out which club they were supposed to be going to. Try to picture 50 children between the ages of seven and thirteen trying to follow choreography in a small classroom with over 30 desks. Chaotic, to say the least, but these students can keep a BEAT, man oh man. That’s what this year will be like, I think. Mostly chaotic, but falling into a rhythm when it has to. Sometimes I feel just RIDICULOUS, like, I am in no way prepared or qualified to be doing this job, but then I’ll get a note from a student or have a really successful lesson, and there’s the rhythm.

(Speaking of notes from students, here’s a gem that one of my standard three youngsters gave me after I taught a few consecutive days with a grossly hoarse and sore voice… I just told them that I was sick and jokingly threatened to stop teaching if they continued to disturb the class:

“Dear teacher Bethany,
Sorry for sicki. I love you bat not live me and ather peopl. I will not stab you in a class thank you asante kwa ku pokea”

Translation (or what I think he meant): Dear teacher Bethany, my condolences for your sore throat. I very much enjoy being in your class, please do not leave me and my fellow classmates. I will not disturb the class. Thank you, thank you for somethinginswahili.”

To top it off, he did a great drawing of a butterfly in the background and hand-delivered the note to my office in a paper-envelope decorated with an ostrich stamp that he drew, cut out, and pasted to the front. Made my day.)

In other news, HAPPY TWO YEAR ANNIVERSARY, TANZANIA! My house mates and I celebrated by going out to a little bar/restaurant place about a 10 minute walk from our house to get chips mayai (basically an omelet with French fries inside) and a beer, both of which were delicious and very, VERY well deserved after we completed our third full week of teaching for the year.  Other fun news, just before writing this blog post, I went outside to the water cistern in our compound to fill up a bucket for doing dishes, and discovered a giant dead crow floating in a bucket of old laundry water. Apparently it drank some of the water and was poisoned. SO CREEPY. Figuring out how the remove it caused a bit of a stir in our house, but we just burned the dead bird in our trash area. The vegetarian (or, at least the former vegetarian) in me felt a little bad for the bird’s fate, but after being chased by a flock of crows while running around a nearby field last week, I don’t have much sympathy for them. That’s just life here. Giant grasshoppers in the house, chickens and goats roaming around the neighborhood, crows or other loud creatures getting stuck in our REALLY LOUD tin roof, and salamanders that scurry up the walls at random intervals. It’s different, but I LOVE IT.

Sorry for the ridiculous length, hope you enjoy!

Happy Mu-Year!!

Alright, it’s the beginning of January and it’s 90 degrees. Helloooooo equator. As a born and raised New Englander, I never expected to have a sun burnt, palm tree Christmas, but I did, and it was pretty sweet (especially after discovering my hidden talent for crafting extravagant construction-paper-snowflakes… our living room looks pretty wintry). It was very strange being away from friends and family, but something even weirder? No shopping malls with “Deck the Halls” blaring. No Christmas trees perched on mountains of glittery gifts. No 25 Days of Christmas on ABC family. No frantic, last minute shopping, checking names off a list and blatantly cursing that idiot who caused the traffic jam on I-84, making you late for dinner with the fam. So what if he got into an accident, how DARE he be so selfish as to drive like a jerk on Christmas Eve, doesn’t he know how many people have THINGS TO DO AND PLACES TO BE?!

(DISCLAIMER- I haven’t historically done a whole bunch of shopping before Christmas, nor do I believe all US citizens act in the frantic manner above, but the exaggerated caricature makes for a nice contrast to what my 2011 Christmas was like, so just bear with me).

Yeah, none of that, which was to be expected because of the cultural differences, but in addition, a very unfortunate event took place just a few days before Christmas this year in Dar es Salaam that made the holidays even more sobering. A flood swept our area (we were on retreat in Tanga with the other 7 Jesuit Volunteers who are stationed in two other Tanzanian communities, so we were not in the area during the worst of it), and it left an enormous amount of damage in its wake. A river runs through Mabibo, and it flooded pretty badly, damaging houses and stripping many families of most of their possessions. One of the families who invited us for a meal within the first week of my arrival also invited us over for a visit on Christmas. They are a beautifully kind family, with many children (the youngest attends Gonzaga school), but live in a level of poverty that I had not been exposed to until visiting their house in early December. A few-room house, dirt floors, very simple and sparse furniture, open to the elements, and unfortunately located on very low ground. About 4.5 feet of water swept into their house during the days of the flood, and while the family all made it out safely, most of their few possessions did not. When five of us visited on Christmas, the water marks on the walls were still visible and the floor still soft and muddy. Damp clothes were hanging around the interior, and apart from a few wooden frames that we sat on during the visit, mostly everything else was gone, including all of the children’s school supplies. But the visit was still so pleasant and warm. The family laughed and offered us each a few chunks of duck, an enormous gesture. We found out shortly thereafter that Gonzaga Primary School was also hit with about 4-5 feet of water and lost everything on the first floor, including its two computers, all of the food stored up for the term, books, and files*. The walk to the school itself was difficult with all of the mud, overflowing water, and debris cluttering the area. For two days after Christmas, we spent our time hand-wash hundreds of mud-caked uniform pieces for the upcoming year, scheduled to begin on January 9^th. Growing up with a washing machine makes you a terrible hand-washer, no matter WHAT sorts of skills you may have, and I seriously lack the proper skills anyway. My knuckles were bleeding after shirt number 10, and I still have scabs. Clearly my technique wasn’t the best, but washing the uniforms was a definite change of pace from most of my past post-Christmas activities, which usually include trying out whatever new things I receive as gifts. When we went to Christmas mass, which was all in Swahili, the priest reiterated the main point of his homily in English so that we could understand- The flood was very damaging, but there were few casualties, we have our health for the holidays, and we are able to celebrate as a community… how fortunate that makes us. It was pretty crazy to hear but also really amazing and powerful (especially since it was the first thing in an hour or so that I was able to understand… the Swahili is still going very slowly). I’m beginning to miss home and am already frustrated with some of the cultural differences that I am encountering, but moments like the ones I experienced on Christmas make me realize how ridiculous a lot of my frustrations are. I felt like I was in who-ville. People kept on singing.

After Christmas, the 11 volunteers went to Moshi to see Mt. Kilimanjaro and spend time at the JV house there to ring in the New Year. We had a silly night dancing in our Mu-Mu’s (very popular Tanzanian garb… I bought the most outrageous one I could find at the market but I actually like it a lot), and screaming along to Backstreet Boys and Spice Girls. It was pretty great J. So, welcome 2012, my first full year away from home. Happy Mu Year!

*If you are interested in helping Gonzaga Primary School recover from the flood damage, please shoot me an email and I’ll hook you up with a fundraising effort going on in the States run by two former JVs who worked at Gonzaga a few years ago. Thanks so much! Bkilliantza11@gmail.com

Karibuni!!

Mambo, from Tanzania!

These past two weeks have been absolutely incredible… definitely a whirlwind, as expected. Since I arrived on Dec 5^th, I’ve been sweating non-stopped (seriously, I didn’t think a human could sweat this much), eating MANY meals with neighbors and friends, and trying hard to begin to understand this new culture that I will be a part of for the next two years.  It’s kind of like a weird time-warp stage… I’ve been here for two weeks, but it feels like I just arrived AND that I’ve been here for months. Strange, but awesome. Rather than going on and on about general life here, I thought it would be more interesting to share a few stories with you from my experience so far. Hope you enjoy!

Lost in translation
Language here is going to be a struggle, and I’m already feeling frustrated that I cannot communicate or express myself as openly, honestly, and easily as I can back in the states. Caitlin and I have had three Kiswahili lessons so far (taught by a woman who teaches at Gonzaga and lives nearby), and they’ve been very practical in terms of being able to purchase mcheze (rice), maharage (beans), and other staples at the Duka (little shop across the road from our house)… but I still find myself dumbly gaping at folks who greet me while I’m walking, unable to get the correct responses straight. I am getting better, and can survive a brief, friendly exchange of “Mambo!” “Poa!” “Safe” “Vipi Safe”… somewhat. But any time the conversation gets a BIT more deep, I just smile and chuckle, shaking my head. Even my name is a struggle… most people call me “Bet” or “Beti” or “Betany”. I haven’t decided which to introduce myself as… thoughts? What’s amazing, though, is how patient and welcoming people have been, regardless of my hopeless lack of language skills. A Tanzanian will switch to English, even if he or she knows very little, or will smile and teach me a word. It’s a great feeling, and quite contrary, I think, to how many folks are treated in America if they cannot speak English very well. Language is such a connecting force, but I’ve found in my short, SHORT time here that some level of trust and friendship can be forged through non verbal means as well. WHEW!

During this past Monday and Tuesday, I left my comfortable house in busy Mabibo to spend time on my own with a host family out in the rural part of Tanzania. The family was amazing- a mother who teaches at Gonzaga, a father who works during the day, a house girl who helps with cooking and childcare, and two children- a five year old boy and a two year old girl. I was nervous about communication before going to stay with them, since the mother teaches Kiswahili and doesn’t have a very strong grasp on English, and the children are just learning, but the silence was ok. The two year old would chatter away in Swahili, while I kind of smiled and laughed, making really weird facial expressions so she would giggle. We also spent a LOT of time throwing a stuffed dog around, doodling on some paper I brought (they were OBSESSED with writing things and scribbling), and watching weird Tanzanian music videos (the pop stars all dance like me… kinda awkward and silly. I knew I’d fit in here). Just sitting with them was pretty sweet. If you know me at all, you know I’m a TALKER. I rarely shut up. This was a really different experience, but still awesome.

“Karibu”: the arts of stomach expansion and Uno
If there is one word that I hear more than ANYTHING, it is “Karibu”, which, as mentioned above, loosely translates to “you’re welcome”.  It goes WAY beyond being a polite response to “Thank you”, and people use it ALL THE TIME. When you enter someone’s house, you hear “Karibu!”, “You are most welcome here”. When somebody offers food, they will say “Karibu”, meaning “please feel welcome to all that I have”. When you are leaving a house or someone’s presence, they will say “Karibu”, “You are always welcome to consider this your home, and me your family”. It was SUPER overwhelming at first, and still is. The AMOUNT of generosity is ultra humbling, especially since I feel as if I cannot adequately express my thanks quite yet, but it has made my experience very communal so far, and the transition easier. Some examples of “Karibu”:

My community mates and I have eaten dinner at a number of families’ houses who are friends with the JVs here. When you are invited to dinner, you eat at least two, usually three FULL plates of food. You STUFF YOUR FACE. As soon as your plate is empty, the host will insist “karibu, karibu!”, sometimes spooning food onto your plate for you. Not that it’s considered rude to refuse the outrageous amount, but eating a LOT of food shows your appreciation for their hospitality. Thus, stomach expansion. I’ve eaten more than I thought possible, of food that I’ve had to adjust to. I’ve been luckier than my housemate, Cait, though. She discovered an eyeball after munching on brains last week in her pile of food. The trooper that she is kept on powering through.

I’ve also seen the “Karibu” culture in the amount of visitors who come to our house. Pretty much every day since I’ve been here, at least two children have come over to hang out, learn English, or play Uno. I have become an Uno master. Seriously. Even without the language skills, we get INTO it. That, and Jenga. Spending time with the children and peers in our neighborhood who come to visit, sometimes to just sit and listen to music, is pretty awesome, and makes this experience seem more permanent than just an immersion trip.

Home away from home

While I’ve only been here for a short time and I have SO much more the learn and adjust to, I am already starting to feel like this is turning into a home. I have had really deep conversations with my housemates, Cat and Shea, who are here for their second year. We’ve talked about culture, sexuality, women’s rights, spirituality, LGBT issues, and are still able to all dance around like idiots and watch Lord of the Rings on someone’s laptop. I am pumped to form relationships with Tanzanians and the culture here, but it is so nice to have Cat, Shea, and Caitlin here as my rocks.

Something that happened last week that was not so fun- I got sick. Not an intense, needing to go to a clinic sick, but stomach pain and a lot of time curled over the toilet (sorry for being graphic) sick. Probably my body just adjusting. For the first few hours, I was really upset. I was in a new place, didn’t know what was wrong, and did not have the comfort of my friends or family. I wanted nothing more than to be home. Worse, it was the middle of the night, and I didn’t want to wake anyone up. Unfortunately, Caitlin was soon awake with the same symptoms. I say unfortunately, because no one wants to be sick, but it ended up being a positive thing. Alternating use of the bathroom, talking each other through the stage of sickness we were at (“You’ve got the chills? Yeah, I had that about an hour ago, it’ll stop eventually but then you feel really really hot, get ready), and getting water for each other, we helped each other through. It definitely sucked that we were both sick, but being there for the other was so important, and turned the really negative experience into something good, something that I walked away from feeling comforted. I have a family here, like a family, I’m sure we’ll disagree and want to kill each other at times, but it’s a family.

Tomorrow the four of us will travel to the northeastern corner of Tanzania for a retreat with the seven other volunteers who are in country. Today, we must say goodbye to Gretchen, who has completed her two years of service and has been such a fantastic person to learn from during the first few weeks. It is a time of transition for everyone, but I can feel it becoming a bit more stable.

Also, Caitlin and I filmed a little video showing what our house and neighborhood looks like. We haven’t figured out how to upload it yet, but probably within the next month we’ll have it up. WOO!

Thank you SO MUCH to everyone for your thoughts. I miss you all, and look forward to hearing from you, either from email or letters! Believe me, getting letters here is SO exciting. I hope you are all enjoying the time leading up to the holidays!

Amani,

Beth

My last plate of nachos

Hey there everyone! I apologize for the enormous gap in my writing, which I credit to the fact that for the past four months, I have been experiencing such a wide range of emotions- it would have been a bit silly to keep you updated on all of them. But man oh man, SO much has happened since August! The strange limbo of a preparation stage that I have been floating in since graduation has come to an end, and I finally feel somewhat 'ready', in the most modest sense of the word. My stomach is still doing those annoying somersaults at least a few times a day, I get teary-eyed (or straight up bawl my brains out) with each "good-bye", and I am constantly reminded of how very little I know about the experience that I am about to begin. But with all that, it's awesome. Surprisingly I'm not afraid, and although it is extremely difficult to part with the people who have been a constant up until this point, I can feel their love and support, and that makes it more exciting than upsetting. To everyone who has been or grown close to me, no matter how recently-- get ready, 'cause you're with me in spirit (cliched as that sounds), and our plane leaves in about 10 hours.

Let me back-track for a bit, because I do still want to share some things about JVC orientation (alll the way back in July) and some highlights from the "prep limbo stage" that I'm transitioning out of at present. (The word "present" has become extremely important to me recently, and I imagine it will continue to hold significance throughout the coming years... I've been trying my best to be HERE now, wherever 'here' may be. Probably why I still don't know a whole lot about where I am off to or what I'll be doing, but definitely why I feel so blessed to be surrounded by the people and places that have left an imprint on me since graduation. It's not a blind ignorance that I'm entering this experience with, but a more confident knowledge of and appreciation for the people and experiences that have absolutely ROCKED here at home, at present). So here are just a few anecdotes from the highlights of my waiting period. I hope they shed some light on where I'm at.

Orientation: July 17-August 1
It's tough to wrap the whole orientation up into words, because it felt like I was on another planet. Seriously. Two solid weeks of deep reflection, prayer, relationship building, meditation, a silent retreat (YES, I was silent for two days. Unbelievable), an investigation of the JVC foundations, dancing (YAY!), and about 40 of the coolest and most admirable folks I have ever met, all volunteers and shipping off to various international service sites (either through JVC or RdC, a comparable program that sends volunteers to Ecuador for a year). It was a whirlwind of activities, structured info sessions, meals together, socials, and optional daily masses.

I'd like to share specifically a day in which we focused on "Spirituality", one of JVC's four pillars (along with simplicity, social justice, and community). This spirituality session was lead by Carlos, a guru of a man who spoke with such passion and intentionality that I was immediately hooked. He began by asking us to sit. Just sit, in silence, for three minutes. This was our initial exposure to meditation. He shared with us, and I'm paraphrasing because it was four months ago, that "It is so important to pause and just listen, to what's inside, to God, to nature, and if we do not practice this, it will be more difficult to center ourselves into the present moment". Of course, my mind was racing from one thing to another and I had a LOT of trouble just trying to quiet my head, but just the intentional action of pausing that morning was so different from my typically frazzled and gogogogogo tendencies. After our foray into meditation, we each took some crayons and colored pencils and were told to draw our "essence". Uhmmmm what?  Many of us were confused at first, including me, but Carlos encouraged us to just DRAW, anything, an object, a feeling, anything that creatively captures who we are at our core. Granted, people spend their whole lives trying to determine this, but it was the first time I was confronted with this question, so I just sat there for a bit and started doodling with the colors I had chosen. I ended up with a bunch of leaves, red and yellow and brown, a little bit of green, all different shapes, just kind of blowing around. I won't jump into a deep analysis of what that means, because I don't think I truly know yet, but it was AMAZING to spend so much time just thinking about who I am. Who AM I? I am many colors. I am blowing in the fickle direction of the wind, I am changing frequently, I am dancing. The coolest part was hearing the other volunteers share their essences. It was like an enormous giant poem of us, and I loved it (also because we were using crayons... thank goodness I'm teaching at a primary school because there will be a LOT of coloring with Miss B- my potential teaching name, thoughts?). During the whole time we were drawing, though, I could not figure out what the point was. Ok, we're spending the day talking about spirituality, and so far we've just sat quietly and drawn who we are at the core, to the best of our novice abilities?  Carlos quickly answered my internal questions after we had all finished sharing our essences. "That, is spirituality. Your core, your essences, YOU. God lives in your deepest passions". This was followed by an amazing talk by Carlos in which he discussed how various religious beliefs may differ, but people sharing their core with one another is at the heart of spirituality. It's a connection to people, to ideas, to God. At one point of the talk, he became very emotional and mentioned how disgusted was at the negative ways gay and lesbian people are treated in many cultures, sometimes arrested or put to death, and almost always possessing unequal rights. He felt betrayed because often, religion is incorrectly used as an excuse or scapegoat for this persecution, when the whole basis of faith should be love and acceptance above all. He had tears in his eyes, and I cried. I didn't hoot and howl in the middle of the session, but I was overcome with emotion. LGBT rights are so important to me, and it sometimes made me feel as if being spiritual or religious or Catholic put me at odds with my passions. I felt a physical and emotional reconnection at that moment, as if he used that example exclusively for me. It was warm and amazing and felt like I was being hugged by everyone in the room, being welcomed back, being truly accepted for who I am. I really felt LOVE, the love of God and the love of everyone around me. It was overwhelming and I will never forget that feeling. I struggled with the decision to participate in a faith-based program when I was figuring out my next steps, but was attracted to the opportunity to really face tough questions and be forced to examine my own spirituality over the next two years, and be able to find God in the most unlikely places, including within myself when times get tough. This day at orientation solidified my decision. I am exactly where I need to be, doing what I need to do, and living the connection between faith and social justice. I definitely do not know what that means in full yet, but I cannot wait to find out.   



Road Trip- September 8-October 3
Another awesome thing about orientation is that I met my future partner-in-crime and housemate, Caitlin O'Donnell. She will be living in Dar with me, and let me tell you, this girl is AMAZING. We compliment each other very well, and at the end of orientation, we made a semi-joking and completely spontaneous plan: Let's go on a cross-country road trip before our departure date in December. She was done with work at the end of August and I really did not have plans, so our silly afterthought became an actual reality, and for the month of September she and I spent our time driving from Connecticut to California and back, over 8,000 miles of travel. This was incredible for MANY reasons:

Caitlin and I in front of the Rocky Mountain Foothills in Colorado

 1- We got to know each other. When people heard of our plan, the majority did that slight-grimace face and said "Wait... you've known each other for two weeks? And you're spending a month on the road together? Before living together for two years? That could get dangerous". Well, doubters, we proved you wrong. There are just some things that bring people together, and one of them is definitely the open road. We shared awesome conversations, silly interactions, and just had a GREAT time. The coolest part? I'm about to spend two years living with my friend, not just an acquaintance. How AMAZING?!

Cait and I with my High School friend Megan and college friend Lillian in Tuscon, AZ

 2- We were able to say adequate good-byes. Between the two of us, we knew enough people scattered around this great country to only have to check into a hotel about 4 of the 25 nights. That gave us the great opportunity to meet each others' friends and family, and spend time with people separated by distance who we otherwise would not have had a chance to see before we left. This meant a sense of completion and a readiness to move on to the next step. .

 Cait climbing up a STEEP ladder in The Badlands while Colin, our new friend and South Dakota JV, and I follow

3- We met incredible people. A very cool thing about JVC is its pillar of "community". During some of our stops, namely in El Paso and South Dakota, neither Cait nor I knew of anyone with whom we could stay. There are domestic JV (Jesuit Volunteer) communities in many of those places, however, and after a quick email exchange, we were welcomed in as family, because we were part of the JV family. The hospitality that we received at the JV houses in South Dakota, Oakland, El Paso, and Nashville was unbelievable, and I felt so humbled and gracious. It was like we were staying with old friends. I still keep in touch with some of the JVs that we met over the journey, and the ability to share my story with them and hear of their experiences as a JV in the states is such a beautiful thing.

Left: Our drive into Yosemite National Park. Right: Me looking over the Badlands in South Dakota.

4- America is SO DIVERSE! Chicago was the furthest west both Caitlin and I had ever traveled (not counting a few plane rides to California when we were younger), and our jaws dropped COUNTLESS times at the sheer beauty of this land. Indiana has SO MANY CORN FIELDS and we were both in awe of the mass of wind turbines that stood like giants against the horizon. South Dakota is remote and BEAUTIFUL. We pulled onto the side of the road when we realized that apart from the road itself and our car, there was nothing man made. We took turns screaming as loud as we could, and there was no echo. Nothing to for the sound to bounce off of. WHAT? Oh, and we also drove through a blizzard near mount Rushmore in EARLY SEPTEMBER. We saw bison in Wyoming, slowly but surely drove through the Rocky Mountains in my '98 Camry dubbed "The Struggle Bus", stared at the most beautiful rock formations in Utah, endured a doozy of a hike in Yosemite national park, blasted music as we crossed the Bay Bridge in California, hiked by more types of cactus than I could count in Arizona, peeked over the border to Mexico in El Paso, had fried green tomatoes in Memphis (SO GOOD), and were comforted by the familiar color of changing leaves once we reached the Appalachian Mountains and made our way back up to New England. It was very special to have an opportunity to actually SEE the country that I am about to represent, and it gave me a sense of pride that I don't think I ever had before. If anything, I feel more prepared to leave.

All in all, this trip was such an important thing to do before leaving, and I couldn't think of a more perfect send-off!

Life at Home- My Last Nachos
When I returned home to Connecticut after the road trip, I had some pretty lofty plans. I would study Swahili for at least an hour a day, preferably two. I would dedicate another hour or two to reading up on Tanzanian culture. I would meditate daily. I would go through my room and sort out what I was bringing and not bringing so that I did not have to pack at the last minute. I would read avidly so that my shelves of unfinished books would be completed before I left. HAH. Needless to say, very few of those things actually happened. I have been listening to Swahili tapes, but it is closer to an hour every week, and I have not done an extensive amount of reading on the culture that I am about to enter. At first, I regretted this, but then I thought about what I have been dedicating my time to instead: the people I love. I have an incredible group of friends at home-- friends I grew up with, friends from High School, friends from my theater days. I spent almost every day with these friends, and I do not regret one second of it. I cooked meals with my mom, drank beer and sat outside with my dad listening to his stories, and focused almost all of my time and energy on where I was at the moment, rather than where I would soon be. There are of course pros and cons to this, but I do not think I could ever be adequately prepared for what I am about to experience, and I honestly feel I would have regretted not spending as much time as possible with the people who formed me into who I am. I was able to take day or weekend trips to Providence to see my friends from college and my brother who is now a Sophomore there. I spent a week in Nashville with my boyfriend and his community mates and loved every moment. Those were the times that stood out to me during this transition period.

It's pretty weird now, what I'm feeling. It's currently 8:45 on the morning that I depart. My two closest childhood friends, Caitlyn and Amber, are sleeping on my couches after they spent the last two days helping me pack, and took countless days off of work in recent weeks just to spend more time with me before the big day, today. I will soon have to say goodbye to them. I will soon have to say goodbye to my parents, who continue to astound me with their amazing support and love. I grew so close to them when I moved back home after college, and I feel unbelievably grateful and blessed. These relationships are ones that will last so much longer than the two years I will be away.

For the past month, I have been eating ANYTHING I want, with the mindset of "Well, I probably won't have this for two years, so why not?". The other day, I was feeling a little nervous about leaving, and hungry, which combined into a disgustingly delicious, giant plate of nachos upon which I piled leftover macaroni, three different types of cheese, salsa, hot sauce, and onions. As I was eating, I thought "HOW am I ever going to give up cheese? This is probably my LAST plate of nachos for the next two years!". After an initial and dramatic feeling of sadness, within moments, I found myself chuckling. One of the most important reasons for me choosing this program is that I want to understand what it means to live simply. I want to focus my attention on people rather than things, on relationships rather than commerce, on sharing a community meal of rice and beans that took hours to cook rather than sitting alone in my house with a giant plate of cheesy nachos that took seconds to make with a microwave. I honestly do not know what to expect in these upcoming years, but I know it will be very different from the life of comfort that I am used to. I couldn't be more excited.

It's not goodbye forever. It's see you in a bit. And I'm ready to go :)

I will hopefully touch base via this blog after I've arrived in country. Thank you all so much for your constant love and support, and for your interest in this big step for me. Off to Boston in a few hours, where I'll fly to Germany, then meet up with my fellow Tanzania volunteers in Switzerland, and finally soar over The Sahara to my new home.

SO much love,
Beth