Saturday, January 19, 2008
a quick WOW!
We're back in Mpwapwa after our HIV workshop in Dodoma. On the second to last day of the seminar, we all went to a primary school near our training center to do some practice teaching about HIV. We worked in a group of four: me, Tony, Zizo and Gilbert, and we prepared for a few hours the day before. The preparations were not exactly how I would prepare for teaching by myself; lots of time was spent drawing straight lines with rulers on our teaching notes. I was sort of dreading the experience, because I was worried our "dudes" would get shy and clam up, and I'd be forced to teach with my limited Kiswahili. Ok, I was worried for nothing. Once we got in that classroom, our dudes sprang to life--they kept everyone interested, they managed the students well, they solicited questions and kept everything moving really smoothly. Tony and I watched with our mouths open, handing them chalk or paper when they needed it. Wow. They totally rocked, and we told them so afterwards; they could not have been happier to hear how pleased we were. THAT'S why we're here--to train teachers, to facilitate events, not necessarily to teach ourselves. That's the philosophy of Peace Corps--one day we'll go home, and we need to leave behind people with the interest and ability to continue educating in our absence. I consider this a huge success; these kids needed a chance to shine, we gave it to them, and they stole the show.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
here, kitty kitty kitty
We got a kitten last week. She was meowing like crazy underneath one of our windows, and I went outside to see what the commotion was. Our yard was full of 12 year old boys who had come to gather fruit from our fruit tree (more on that later), and they joined in my efforts to catch the kitten. I got her and brought her inside and gave her milk. Then she started purring and rubbing against my legs--that sold me on keeping her. The group of boys had gathered in our courtyard at this point and were eagerly helping me choose a name for her, because Tanzanians don't usually name their pets--this was hysterically funny for all of us. We decided to name her Pipi, which is Kiswahili for "candy." She's mangy and dirty and covered with fleas, she has a scab on her nose, and she likes to eat bugs--but she purrs all the time, and loves to cuddle on my lap. What was I supposed to do? By now, one week later, people ask about her and come over to visit her. We're more popular than ever.
We have a fruit tree in our yard; it's a Zambarau tree, and its fruit is like tiny plums, as big as a fat kalamata olive. Tanzanians have trouble saying the "r" sound, so it sounds like "zambalau" when they say it, and that's what we say now, too. Our tree is literally raining zambalau--the branches are heavy with the dark purple little babies, and every time the wind blows, hundreds fall to the ground. People are in our yard all day long, gathering fruit from the ground or climbing the tree to get it. At first it was charming, and we quickly learned which fruits were good and which were sour; now, it's a little annoying, because we probably hear the word "zambalau" about 300 times per day. I won't be that sad when the zambalau season ends. Zambalau, zambalau, zambalau, zambalau, zambalau. Zambalau.
We're in Dodoma for the week, attending a Peace Corps workshop about HIV/AIDS. We were just settling back into the rhythms of life in Kibakwe after our holiday in Zanzibar, so I wasn't overly excited to travel again. However, we brought our usual counterparts, Zizo and Gilbert, and they are STOKED to be here and learn about HIV and go back to Kibakwe and start working on projects together. I've got lots of ideas about HIV-related projects; I am most interested in working with at-risk, out-of-school youth, which is the demographic with the highest rate of new HIV infection in Tanzania. I am also interested in working with the secondary school students, because I like teenagers. From everything we've learned so far, it's best to start with small, manageable projects, like coaching peer educators or starting a health club. We really have endless options--we are the first Peace Corps Volunteers in our town, and everyone has been so welcoming and supportive of our project ideas. With Peace Corps, you are completely in charge of your projects--you decide what you want to do and who you want to work with. As always, I'll keep you posted.
Here's the honest truth: being here is the most stressful experience of my life. The cultural adaptations are easy: over-crowded buses, squatting to poop, cooking with charcoal, boiling drinking water, learning to live without cheese, creative ideas about being on time. All easy--sometimes frustrating, but easy. The single most difficult thing for me, the thing that causes me endless stress and literally fills my head at night when I'm trying to fall asleep, is not being able to speak Kiswahili fluently. I am doing extremely well, considering I've only been speaking it for the last 7 months, but I am not a sophisticated speaker, and cannot always say what I want to or always understand what is being said to me. This is more frustrating, more maddening, more tormenting than you can imagine. I know that I'm being hard on myself, and I know that I'm doing very well, but it is absolutely necessary to speak Kiswahili here--there's just no English spoken in our town, other than the bits that Zizo and Gilbert can say--and I just want to live effortlessly. So there it is. I traded the stresses of life in America for the stresses of life in Tanzania. But I'm glad to be here, and I'm hoping that we'll have some success with our projects and that it will all be worth it.
Zambalau?
We have a fruit tree in our yard; it's a Zambarau tree, and its fruit is like tiny plums, as big as a fat kalamata olive. Tanzanians have trouble saying the "r" sound, so it sounds like "zambalau" when they say it, and that's what we say now, too. Our tree is literally raining zambalau--the branches are heavy with the dark purple little babies, and every time the wind blows, hundreds fall to the ground. People are in our yard all day long, gathering fruit from the ground or climbing the tree to get it. At first it was charming, and we quickly learned which fruits were good and which were sour; now, it's a little annoying, because we probably hear the word "zambalau" about 300 times per day. I won't be that sad when the zambalau season ends. Zambalau, zambalau, zambalau, zambalau, zambalau. Zambalau.
We're in Dodoma for the week, attending a Peace Corps workshop about HIV/AIDS. We were just settling back into the rhythms of life in Kibakwe after our holiday in Zanzibar, so I wasn't overly excited to travel again. However, we brought our usual counterparts, Zizo and Gilbert, and they are STOKED to be here and learn about HIV and go back to Kibakwe and start working on projects together. I've got lots of ideas about HIV-related projects; I am most interested in working with at-risk, out-of-school youth, which is the demographic with the highest rate of new HIV infection in Tanzania. I am also interested in working with the secondary school students, because I like teenagers. From everything we've learned so far, it's best to start with small, manageable projects, like coaching peer educators or starting a health club. We really have endless options--we are the first Peace Corps Volunteers in our town, and everyone has been so welcoming and supportive of our project ideas. With Peace Corps, you are completely in charge of your projects--you decide what you want to do and who you want to work with. As always, I'll keep you posted.
Here's the honest truth: being here is the most stressful experience of my life. The cultural adaptations are easy: over-crowded buses, squatting to poop, cooking with charcoal, boiling drinking water, learning to live without cheese, creative ideas about being on time. All easy--sometimes frustrating, but easy. The single most difficult thing for me, the thing that causes me endless stress and literally fills my head at night when I'm trying to fall asleep, is not being able to speak Kiswahili fluently. I am doing extremely well, considering I've only been speaking it for the last 7 months, but I am not a sophisticated speaker, and cannot always say what I want to or always understand what is being said to me. This is more frustrating, more maddening, more tormenting than you can imagine. I know that I'm being hard on myself, and I know that I'm doing very well, but it is absolutely necessary to speak Kiswahili here--there's just no English spoken in our town, other than the bits that Zizo and Gilbert can say--and I just want to live effortlessly. So there it is. I traded the stresses of life in America for the stresses of life in Tanzania. But I'm glad to be here, and I'm hoping that we'll have some success with our projects and that it will all be worth it.
Zambalau?
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