One Long Week

Entry via Letter

Returning from Dodoma and getting back on schedule with the school / life in the village was not easy. After the first week back though, I got into the swing of things, starting a netball team with the girls, and beginning my drama program with the peer educators. I had one crazy week…

Monday I taught at school all day, and gave a test to my form 4 students. Half of them failed, which was not encouraging, but a fourth of them came into the office to redo their work, which was very encouraging. I was also happy when half of them checked books out from my office and returned them on time, not only retuning them, but bringing me a list of the words they wanted to learn.

Monday night as I lay reading in bed, I all of a sudden heard a gunshot. Sure that my imagination was playing tricks on me, I continued reading, only to hear 2 more gunshots, this time closer to the house. I turned off the flashlight I was using and started to get out of bed to see what was going on (Sounds like a GREAT idea, eh?) and immediately fell back down on the mattress when two gunshots went off right outside my window. Now nervous and heart rate increasing, I laid flat on the bed with no light, hoping that my student had locked the door before he stepped out. An hour passed, and I heard my door slam, and then heard my student whistling. I jumped out of bed to ask him what was going on, and as I stumbled into the dinning room he had locked all of the doors and was pulling the thin sheets we pass off as curtains over the windows.

He explained that a group of people from Namyomo the village next door, had beaten their village representative 2 days ago, and today the police had shown up to arrest them. Running away, the police had followed them into Makong’onda but had not found them (it was dark, and there are no lights here) so they decided to shoot their guns through the village, probably to scare the people from their hiding places, but most likely because they were irritated they came all the way to the village and didn’t get to beat anyone.

Tuesday was the first day of netball, a game similar to basketball except that there is no basket, no dribbling, and no shoes, which given that we play on sand, I did not consider a problem. Wrong. Oh so wrong. By the end of playing, the soles of my feet were 2 different shades, black from soot and white from where blisters had formed. It was worth it though, to see these shy, quiet, girls from my classes who barely speak in class and never have the courage to make eye contact, fight, push, shout, and laugh, all in the name of winning a basket. Even the slightest mistake or fumble was met with loud scolding and shouts from girls on all teams, as well as the crowd that formed, which mostly included boys from the school – Their attendance undoubtedly made the girls rowdier - eager for the attention always taken from them by the boys at school.

Wednesday I went from my regular class to class at the local dispensary, a small type of hospital in my village. I went to teach about the ways to prevent HIV/AIDs and about how fluids can carry HIV/AIDS. This teaching began as a supplement to the health clinic held every Wednesday at our clinic. Women come, we test them, and we check their other general health. Unfortunately, there isn’t a lot of need for testing because HIV is so stigmatized here, many people are scared to test – but more scared to have their friends find out and ex-communicate them from their family and friends. We teach and test them, but mostly they remain quiet and ask no questions. Today was a good day, because we had a lot of questions.

Thursday, the people from Solar-Aid, a non-profit organization that puts solar on rural schools and hospitals, came to inspect our school. Because our head master was absent, we only had one teacher other than me scheduled to do the meetings. I did the entire 10 page application the day before (he came by to sign it), then answered the majority of questions the next day, showing my extremely skinny Canadian guest around the school. As she was leaving she looked me square in the eye and said she had a “surprise” for me. I followed her to her car where she pulled out a huge box and said, “This is for you from an old PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer) who left it in our care “I’m supposed to give it to the first PCV I see”. The box was heavy, and so I took it, waved goodbye and tried to hurry to the house before break…no such luck. Our bell rang and 2 of my favorite students sprinted from their classroom to where I was on the path, insisting that the “box the mzungu (foreigner) gave you is too heavy” and each taking a corner, walked with me to the house, shouting at others to go away when they approached.

We entered the house and they set the box on the table and then sheepishly stared down at their feet. Shazimu spoke up first, “So teacher, what is in the box that is making it more difficult to carry?” Rashidi then pointed out (ever the helpful one), “teacher, your scissors are on the table, let us open the box for you”. We opened the box together, only to find the holy grail of America inside.

On the top was a HUGE bag of candy bars, below that, trail mix, gummiworms, hot cocoa, granola + luna bars, TUNA, gum, Kool-Aid, popcorn, and mashed-potato mix. I had never seen anything so random and beautiful, and the boy’s eyes grew to the size of silver dollars.

Throwing each of them 2 Hershey bars, they bolted from the house, leaving me to bask in the taste of chocolate with my tea for the first time in weeks.

Fridays are relatively calm for me; I don’t teach. I mostly run re-po for library books that are overdue. On my way back to school from grabbing books, I ran into a small group of students dragging a student dry-heaving, screaming, and crying from the classrooms. Immediately I ran over to where they were and insisted that she go to my house to lie down. Once she was lying dawn and calm, I returned to the library.

Five minutes later a student ran into the library and told me I needed to come right now, and I raced back with her toward my home where there was now a good deal of shouting and screaming, but it didn’t sound like the student…I entered to find Madame Wambora, standing over the student, hands pressing her head firmly to the pillow, screaming out an exorcism in Kiswahili. I’m not sure if I believe in demons, but if I had been possessing my student, I would have done as Madame requested and returned to hell where I belonged. Standing at 4 ft 10 with a 2-month ld baby strapped to her back, Madame was furious, and she passionately performed this ritual until the student again stood still.

Later Friday, we took the student to Newala hospital, where the admitting nurse took one 10 minute look and said my student was schizophrenic, then placed here in a ward with extremely sick women, to wait for 2 days for a doctor who would never get around to seeing her. ( I arrived to pick up this student and argued with the nurse over the un-likelihood the student had Schitz. She merely smiled and told me that she showed all the symptoms, and said her diagnosis was the same as the doctors would be (would he have been dedicated enough to show up for work).

Tanzania health care – this is why I hope I never get sick.

Saturday my peer educators held their first program at our school, a warm-up for other primary schools we hope to visit. The program went very, very, well. The students had a lot of fun, and the teachers who came to offer their critique enjoyed it a lot, and were able to give some very constructive feedback. We will start going on tours of other schools next week.

Sunday I took a group of 6 boys to a volley ball camp held at Newala Day School, where volunteers Gigi and Jenrusha were teaching first about HIV/AIDS and then about volleyball. The camp was sponsored by a PEPFAR grant similar to the one I wrote. The boys had a great time, writing all of what they learned into their new notebooks and playing volleyball as well as the rest of the kids. Gigi has a theory that sports programs are the single greatest thing Tanzanians could invest in, giving their youth something else to do / look forward to than just sex. Every time I saw the kid’s faces light up when the ball made its way over the net, I realized she was right.

So this is a not-so-typical and then all together totally typical Tanzanian week. Without a few disasters thrown in, a few challenges, or one or two major problems, it just wouldn’t make an African week.

As always, you are all most welcome to visit our madness herein the village. Experiencing your own “typical” week is far better than reading about mine!