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Published: December 9th 2017
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Scene one- I’m on my knees, begging God for the patience to tolerate that fact that, for the sixth time, no one, including my work partner, has shown up to the children’s training program that the school was so excited to support. I even spoke face to face with the teachers just yesterday, gritting my teeth as one of them (who’s been my neighbor for eight months now) yelled to the students (who I scold daily for calling me Mzungu instead of my name), “WHO’S DOING THE TRAINING WITH THE MZUNGU?!!” Another teacher looked embarrassed and added “Kate..” quietly, but the rest of them carried on with the leader’s example, discussing the Mzungu’s training.
It doesn’t help that these same teachers, who have not shown interest in any of the three grant projects I’m currently pursuing (one of which would provide the school with 500 new apple trees), had the nerve to send my counterpart to ask me if I could build them a new kitchen with Peace Corps grant funding.
There’s a word for harsh, strict, or severe. It’s Kali. Had you heard my reply to that request, you would understand the lack
of coincidence that my nickname back home is Cali.
Scene two: A flurry of tiny green and blue uniforms come sprinting down the dirt path toward me, their big white smiles even brighter against their chocolate brown skin. When they arrive in the classroom, they adopt an air of seriousness. Play isn’t a part of classroom education here, and they only know they’ve come to learn about HIV. It takes 10 seconds to break down that wall. “KUWA KUKU!” I shout, and start clucking around the middle of the circle, pecking at children’s shoulders and bobbing my neck like a village chicken. They scream with delight and start clucking, scratching, and flapping their elbow wings. Being a chicken might be a new concept, but they certainly know what to do. My Tanzanian male work partners have now arrived, and they too start clucking and flapping around the circle. Moments later, I watch as my charismatic work partners lead groups of children in creating theater about HIV. I’ve never seen so many smiles. I can hardly understand their conversations, but their little circles of joy radiate energy. Occasionally, a student peaks back at me from their plotting, grinning
with the discovery of creativity. My eyes tear up, and I mentally kick myself for being so impatient. These little lives, this room full of joy, is worth every moment of frustration.
That same day, that started with so much frustration, ended with Community Action Theater in one room, and our Agriculture Class next door. Just weeks ago, every Ag Class was a roll of the dice whether we would cancel because no one showed up. Now, two rooms are full of Peace Corps projects, and my counterpart leads a class on Orange Fleshed Sweet Potatoes while I work with the students. I bounce back and forth, adding in here and there about OFSP. One village farmer asks if he can go ahead and give me money to buy extra vines while traveling next week. He wants to plant a whole acre before we’ve even received the grant funding. The mamas, breasts exposed to nurse as we chat, discuss business opportunities in making Sweet Potato Flour, and are excited that trainings will take place at baby-weigh days so that they don’t have to miss extra time on the farm.
When the students are finished
with their Community Action Theater training for the day, we all run through the paths of the village back to school, singing a call-and-repeat song in their local tribal language. Even though I butcher the pronunciation, the students won’t do it without me leading. The whole village now thinks I’m 1) Crazy, and 2) Very bad at singing. The kids… they love it.
Despite my frustrations with attendance and participation, I’ve been so fortunate to discover a young man in my village who shows up every day to work with us. Emmanuel is the home-based-healthcare liaison, but can’t be older than 26. He’s studied some English, and views the experience as an opportunity to acquire new leadership skills. Incredible with the children, they think he’s just too-cool. I don’t think this training could have progressed without his help, and I hope that I’ll have the opportunity to take him to a Peace Corps training at some point. Without any monetary incentives, he’s even shown up when my actual HIV work partner has not. The days that they are both there, however, are truly stellar.
In other news, my Thanksgiving celebration, which took place the
Friday after Turkey Day at our little lake campsite, was the bees knees. Anyone would have been amazed at our ingenuity. With only lake water and charcoal, we managed to construct a delicious menu of: baked mac n cheese, homemade latkes and applesauce, homemade cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, apple-carrot stuffing, bacon-cooked peas, spiced carrots, deviled eggs, pickled eggs, authentic gravy, flatbread, fresh fruit, shortbread cookies, brownies, and, because our turkey was a deep-fried disaster, a chicken that arrived on a motorcycle. We camped the night there, and I shared instant Pumpkin Spice Lattes with the ladies the following morning (Thanks for that Care Package!). At one point in the evening the wine kicked in, and I dropped a pot of boiled potatoes in the grass while trying to strain them. With the help of three headlamps, a deep-squat, and two other ladies, we picked potatoes out of the dirt, wiping off debris, and throwing them back in the pot with the milk and margarine. Extra flavor never hurts.
A couple other PCVs ran into a German couple in the market earlier that day, and invited them to share Thanksgiving with us. When we circled the table
to tell what we were most thankful for (a family tradition I couldn’t be without), the couple teared up and told us that they wished their own culture had a tradition of giving thanks like Americans. Considering the frequent stereotypes that come with being American, we thought that was a pretty special statement.
Immediately after arriving back to site from Turkey Day, I began decorating for Christmas and listening to carols. The following weekend, I had the privilege of hosting our holiday-themed ladies craft night, which included a Christmas cookie exchange, wreath making (thanks to mom’s supply package), and a creative gift exchange. I turned my little house into a Christmas wonderland, and had real coffee brewed when the ladies arrived. My friend Brenda and I started a Christmas carol playlist before we went to fetch the girls at the bus-stop. They could hear the music before they even approached the house, and it was SO special. While we chimed over cookies and coffee, an honorary participant husband cooked dinner for us, and by the time we started on the wreaths, wine bottles were opened and candles lit. Our gift exchange was full of crafted
goodies and a few gag-gifts. I made a big care-package of extras you all had sent me from home. THAT gift was stolen several times. By game’s end, I scored a hand-painted watercolor with a second-hand china tea-cup and seeds sent from America! Only Peace Corps Agriculture volunteers would gift cantaloupe seeds to each other! It was one of my favorite Peace Corps days to date.
Now I’m gearing up for another round of travel. I’ll be heading to Morogoro again, this time to assist in teaching the training on Orange Fleshed Sweet Potatoes and village nutrition. It feels cool to be teaching other volunteers about a project that they can take back to their own villes!
When I’m finished there, I’ll head to Dar to meet (DRUMROLL!!!) LOREN! It’s been over ten months since we’ve seen each other, and despite the speedbumps, we’ve managed to make it through. We’ll spend four days in the tropics of Zanzibar before returning to a village Christmas. I’m honestly still in shock that he’ll be here next week.
So, there you have it. My life is a balance of selfish annoyance and utter
bliss. As they told us, it’s the Hardest Job You’ll Ever Love.
Merry Christmas Y’all.
Kate
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