Sweet as Gandhi

I just finished reading "The Words of Gandhi" and wanted to share some of my favorite quotes from the book with you:

On daily life...

"The Golden Rule... is absolutely to refuse to have what millions cannot. This ability to refuse will not descend upon us all of a sudden. The first thing is to cultivate the mental attitude that will not have possessions or facilities denied to millions, and the next immediate thing is to rearrange our lives as fast as possible in accordance with that mentality."

On cooperation...

"My notion of democracy is that under it the weakest should have the same opportunity as the strongest."

On nonviolence...

"Nonviolence and cowardice go ill together. I can imagine a fully armed man to be at heart a coward. Possession of arms implies an element of fear, if not cowardice. But true nonviolence is impossible without the possession of unadulterated fearlessness."

On faith...

"I believe in the fundamental truth of all great religions of the world. I believe that they are all God-given and I believe that they were necessary for the people to whom these religions were revealed. And I believe that if only we could all read the scriptures of the different faiths from the standpoint of the followers of these faiths, we should find that they were at the bottom all one and were all helpful to one another."

On peace...

"I have found that life persists in the midst of destruction and therefore there must be a higher law than that of destruction. Only under that law would a well-ordered society be intelligible and life worth living."

School's Out

Today was our last day of formal Swahili classes, but ironically now is when the learning will really begin. In my placement there will be very little English spoken and I am required to teach my lessons in Swahili. The purpose of the classes was essentially to provide us with the building blocks of the language, and now it is our responsibility to put them into use. It was also a bit emotional, as we have spent the last month with our mwalimu (teacher), Betty, and have grown quite close to her and her family. During the lessons we often had to make up sentences in Swahili to demonstate that we understood the concepts taught. I always tried to add a bit of life into the lessons by creating really crazy (chizi) sentences to make Betty laugh. The final exercise was to look at a set of pictures and make a story about them. In true fashion, I ended with a story of a lazy fisherman who had his boat flipped by an irate fish. He then swam and found a piece of wood on which he rode for 5 years. Eventually he made friends with a crocodile and they were married. They died of hunger. As usual, I had the girls laughing pretty hard. Betty made sure that I knew she would miss my chizi Swahili and that we are “warmly welcome” to come visit her again any time.

To backtrack a bit, on Friday we had a cooking class, where we took the entire day to learn how to cook Tanzanian meals. There was quite a spread, including chapatis (flat bread), chai (tea), ndizi (plaintains), njegere (peas), ugali (stiff porridge), kuku (chicken), wali wa nazi (coconut rice), pilau na nyama (spiced rice with meat) and more. I had eaten most of the foods before, but until now I had not realized how much work went into cooking them. It took us over 6 hours to prepare everything. Before we came to Betty’s house we picked up the chicken from Mama Kiri’s (yes, live). I was the designated chicken carrier, and she was surprisingly well behaved in the car. We decided to name her Dorthy, as all live animals need a name don’t they? I kept thinking how strange it was that I was carrying around a living animal that would be on my plate in a few hours. Either way, Dorthy was delicious, prepared by the traditional TFC (Tanzanian Fried Chicken) method. Okay so I just made that up, but really, they simply fry the chicken in a pan full of oil, so it does quite resemble KFC, but these chickens have actually moved around of their own free will and eaten something resembling food, not just kept pinned down and pumped full of growth hormones; the down side is that they are not quite as tender.

Sorry Dorthy...........................................But your delicious!

On Saturday night, I went over to some British expats’ house to watch the World Cup of Rugby final game. The match was between England and South Africa, and it was the first time I had attempted to watch a full game of rugby. Up until then I had only seen random highlights and just assumed that it was like American football without pads. Rugby is a huge part of some countries culture, and I am always keen to learn what I can about such things. The football assumption wasn’t terrible, as there are some areas of the game, such as the way in which points are scored, which are similar. However, instead of a touchdown, it is called a “try”, which I really don’t understand, because a try usually means that you didn’t succeed. You can also score by kicking the equivalent of a field goal. If there are any rugby fans out there that take offense to this comparison, don’t worry, I know that rugby came first and that football stole its concepts, not the other way around. The main differences are that you cannot pass the ball forwards at any time, the play doesn’t end when the ball hits the ground, and the usage of “scrums” (which I don’t understand yet); I know there are quite a few other more subtle rule differences that weren’t evident just by watching one game, but you try asking a rabid England fan about the rules while they are trying to watch their team play in the World Cup final. It could be likened to a Brit asking a Canadian to explain the icing rule while Canada is playing for the Olympic Gold Medal in Hockey. Anyhow England lost to South Africa, which was a disappointment because 10 of the 12 people there were from England. I was pretty neutral, as I had recently heard the story of how South Africa was banned from the World Cup until apartheid ended, after which it was held in that country and they went on to win, scoring a decisive victory for unity in the country. I was of course very surprised to see that there were more black players on the England team then on the South African team, which made me think maybe things haven’t changed that much after all.

On Sunday there was a dedication for Andrew and Miriam’s son, Ben, and a potluck lunch held at their house afterwards. The food was great and it was nice to be able to speak English for a whole day, but I have to admit it was strange being around all of those white people at once. Amazing how fast being the minority becomes normal.

There's a frog in my bathroom...

Well just wanted to let people know that I finally got more pictures uploaded. They are a few weeks old but the internet connection has been terrible for the past while so I apologize for the delay. Anyways I hope you enjoy them, they are in the top item in the "Pictures" box to the right.

Oh, and really, there is a frog in my bathroom.

Time flies...

Well I have been in Tanzania for a month now, and I have to say that the time has gone by very quickly. Compared to the four weeks I spent in Ontario at training school in the summer, this month has seemed incredibly short. From what I have heard from people, it sounds like the first few months in a new country can go by in a flash, with the time afterwards slowing to a normal pace (presumably because one has become used to the new surroundings and life style). We have only one week of language school left and while my vocabulary still needs a great deal of work, I can hold a very basic conversation in Swahili and usually understand most of what is being said, provided that the context is evident.

You have to learn to laugh at yourself when learning a new language. For example, the verb “elewa” means “to understand,” which is useful when you begin speaking because often you will want to say “I don’t understand.” To change a verb to first person negative in Swahili one adds “si” and changes the last vowel to an “i”. Thus, for the first few weeks we were saying “silewi” (see-lay-wee) for “I don’t understand.” This was usually met by confused looks and/or laughter. It wasn’t until later we sound out that the verb “lewa” (without the “e”) is to be drunk. Since we had dropped the “e” from the negative version of to understand, we had been telling people “I am not drunk!” I don’t know why we dropped the “e”, but it illustrates how important one letter can be.

Many of you may have seen the picture of my classroom in the yard of our teacher’s home. Essentially it is just a small wooden shack, but it works and I rather like spending the day outside in the open air. The only problem is that our teacher has a crazy neighbor, an old woman who is convinced that she owns all the houses in the neighborhood and that the tenants should thus pay her the rent. Sometimes she likes to throw rocks at our classroom, and today she told us that we had not paid the rent for a year so she was kicking us out to find a new tenet who will pay up. She was also carrying a big stick so we didn’t want to argue. Luckily Betty, our teacher, knows the woman’s daughter and just calls her up when these things happen, which is much nicer then what some of the other neighbors do to her.

Oh yes, I nearly forgot that since I last wrote I have traveled on daladalas (small minibuses used for local transporation) a number of times. I had read about some pretty crazy experiences from other expats, so I was excited to see what all the fuss was about. Basically they look like miniature Volkswagon buses, and they are named things like “James Bond” and “Death Star 2000.” Most of them would not be legal to drive on the roads in Canada or any other Western country, but that doesn’t stop the driver and his bus boy (the guy who recruits passengers, collects money, and comes closer to death by road rash each day than I care to know) from fitting as many people as possible into the things. There are particular stops that you can wait at but you can also wave the things down anytime they pass you (actually they are constantly honking and yelling at you as they pass, trying to get more passengers). I am sad to say that my rides so far, albeit being rather squishy, have been rather uneventful; the only point of interest was the surprise of the Tanzanians on board when 8 wazungu invaded their minibus, outnumbering the locals. This might not seem that substantial but when you consider that they only ever see one or two white people, which whom are usually completely outnumbered and surrounded by Africans, it would be quite overwhelming to suddenly be surrounded by us. The surprise was evident by the way that they called out “Look at all the wazungu on here!” to the other locals each time we were stopped. Anyways, after this week I should be starting my placement, which is exciting, but I still do not know where I will be living yet. This is why being “flexible” is a necessary attribute for a cross-cultural worker, particularly in Africa.

Wedding Crashers

This weekend I had the privilege of attending two events which served to give me more insight into Tanzanian culture. The first was a night of cultural music, which was put on by Neema Crafts, which is a project of the Diocese of Ruaha (the same group I work for). Neema Crafts is a café and shop in which the entire African staff is disabled in some way. All of the servers are deaf, and therefore you must communicate that you wish to order by flicking a light switch which is wired to a bulb in the lower level of the café. The orders are placed by writing the items in a well-designed order card, and all other communication is done via sign language (which is provided conveniently in the back of the menu). The craft shop is another operation in itself, comprising an office, a large workshop, a courtyard and various other facilities for the workers. The workers have various disabilities but are able to create some gorgeous works of art and practical items as well. The proceeds from the sales of the café and shop go to paying the workers salaries and upgrading their equipment. This is such an important project because in Africa people with disabilities are extremely marginalized. This unique initiative gives them a new lease on life, so to speak, and a livelihood that would be unattainable in other circumstances.

Anyhow, we arrived at Neema about an hour and a half early because we were out buying our wedding gift for the next day before the market closed (which ended up being a thermos and 6 coffee mugs - on a side note, it is extremely difficult to find any products that are not remotely tacky here in Iringa, everything is either extremely brightly coloured like a child’s play set or looks like it is from the 1980’s). Being that we know the owners and other volunteers, we helped them set up for the dinner and show which was by candlelight under the stars. Eventually the night got underway, with about 40 wazungu (foreigners) and perhaps 10 Tanzanians showing up. The show consisted of one guy on the xylophone-like thingy, one woman on the drums, and 6 dancers. All of the dancers were deaf, and very talented. It must be incredibly difficult for them to keep rhythm without any sound, but they do it somehow. The show was very enjoyable, and I was told by the owner of Neema that they are raising money to send the dancers over to the UK to perform at a number of venues including one of the biggest concerts in the world (if you are interested in donating just let me know). Dinner was good too, it was a chili-like dish served on wali (rice) and pineapple cake for desert.

The next day, we had our first Tanzanian wedding to attend. I was very excited because I heard that they can be very charismatic events. The groom is part of the EI staff, a guy named Thomas who never stops smiling (this will be relevant later). The wedding was actually very similar to that we might see in Canada, so I will focus on the differences and let you fill in the gaps. First of all, on the way to the service we had to pick up “a few” other guests, seeing as we were the only ones with a vehicle going to the wedding. As we drove down the road we saw the “few” guests standing on the side of the road waiting patiently; if it were a bus stop you would have been surprised at the number of people there. So we crammed about 15 people in the back of the landcruiser for the first trip to the church, and then went back for another 10 or so afterwards. While I have not ridden in a Tanzanian minibus (daladala) yet, I think I have a pretty good idea of what it is like. By the way, the word for “squished” in Swahili sounds just like the English word “Banana.” At the service there was a great deal of singing, clapping and dancing, with various African mamas taking turns rushing the wedding party throughout the proceedings. The bride was accompanied in by a large group of people, including 4 synchronized dancing girls and many of her family members. One of the funniest things about the wedding was that the bride and groom are not allowed to smile or look happy because they are supposed to be sad at the prospect of leaving their families. So while everyone else is having the time of their lives, they have to continuously look like the family pet was just run over – this goes for the whole time, including the reception. Also, it is custom for the best man and maid of honour to fuss over the groom and bride the whole time; this means that every 30 seconds one of them is fixing hair, wiping dust, repositioning clothing, fanning air etc. on their respective person – sometimes I thought it was a competition to see who could fuss the most. When the vows were exchanged the bride and groom each got what looked like a Christmas version of a Hawaiian lai over their necks. I did not understand very much of the service as my Swahili is still rudimentary, but I know that it went on for a long time.

After the service the whole congregation followed the vehicle of the wedding party down the road to the house where the reception was taking place. The yard was full of chairs and the head table set up against the house with decorations flowing behind them. There was a huge stereo system set up outside and people were having a great time, dancing, waving kangas (east African material with Swahili sayings written on them, used for skirts etc.), singing and the like. There was a very energetic woman as the MC and she talked so fast even those who are fluent in Swahili had a tough time understanding her. After a parade of speeches, the cake was cut and it was time for gifts. When the gifts are given at a Tanzanian wedding, each group takes its turn holding up the gifts and dancing them up to the stage. This was the best part, and many times I saw Thomas trying to suppress his smile as people wrapped kangas around them, danced and sung and showered them with goods. I only saw his wife flinch once – she had a frown that could kill. When our turn came I finally realized why they told us in training school that we had to be able to laugh at ourselves during our time overseas. We were the only white people there and apparently it was extremely funny for them to see our comparatively stiff dance moves bring those presents up. The MC was calling us up, evidenced by a slurry of words containing “muzungu” coming from the speakers. Everyone was laughing at us but we let our inhibitions go and danced our white buts up there in great fashion. Afterwards everyone was so proud of us and many people came up to introduce themselves and generally make us feel very welcome.

I was very excited when people started to line up for dinner and there were no forks and knives; I would finally get to eat my meal “African Style” with my hands. As we sat down and I started to dig in, a shy young girl came up and presented us with 5 forks. I was dismayed and decided that I was happy eating like everyone else and kept on going with my hands. It is a very strange yet somehow liberating sensation to eat with just your hands, especially with something as granular as rice, as you can imagine. The dinner was excellent – it was a mishmash of 3 types of rice, a bruschetta-like tomato dish, 2 types of potatoes, beans, and of course topped off with a nice cold soda pop. Everything was over by 7, rather early, but I was glad as it was a long and tiring day.

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

Book of the Month

Long Walk to Freedom: The Autobiography of Nelson Mandela

For the last few years I have been fascinated by the history of South Africa (SA) and the brutal apartheid regime implemented by the government of the ruling white minority. Nelson Mandela is the face of the struggle against the oppressive powers in SA, and is known worldwide for his opposition to racism and everything that goes with it. It was interesting because on the flight over from London to Dar es Salaam I watched a movie I had never heard of about a guard that worked as a censor for the political prisoners during apartheid. The basic job of a censor is to make sure that the prisoners only receive or send out news that relates to their immediate family, that is, nothing political may be discussed with the outside world. In the movie, the guard, Sergeant James Gregory, has a personal struggle between the racist principles of his own people and his personal convictions that all humans should be treated with respect. The movie was good in detailing Gregory’s personal life, but it left me hungering for more information about the struggle of Mandela and the African National Congress (ANC). Of course I was delighted when the first book that popped out at me on Andrew and Miriam’s shelf was Mandela’s autobiography. I immediately picked it up and could barely put it down until finishing it.

The story puts a much more human face to Mandela; beneath his iconic status is but a normal man who saw injustice and felt he had no choice but to fight it. I was surprised to learn that his upbringing was in a very rural community, in which the people lived very basically but also very contently. He details the tribal relationships and the culture that pervaded the south of this pristine continent; interestingly enough his political views were born out of the democratic nature of the tribal governance. As he matured, a few chance happenings including the death of his father led him to be taken care of by a well off family and educated in some of the best schools in SA. He eventually became a very successful attorney, and his knowledge of the law would greatly aid him in his years to come. This isn’t to say that he had things easy by any means; numerous hardships plagued this mans life and it is amazing that he remained so strong throughout.

Apartheid literally means “apartness” and was a system of classification based on race. At the top were the whites, they could vote, own land, run businesses and had essentially all of the freedoms we have in the Western world today. Next were the “coloureds” which would constitute Indians, Asians, and other immigrants, along with mixed race people. The coloureds had much less rights then the whites (they could not vote) but were better off then the next category. At the bottom of the ladder was “blacks”, the African “natives” that has originally lived on the land for thousands of years. The Africans were essentially treated as sub-humans. They could not vote, own land or use any of the same public facilities as whites. They were required to live in certain designated areas, which were essentially slums, carry “passes” to travel from one city or district to another, and gladly accept the lowest tasks from any white person who ordered them to. Their wages were next to nothing and basic rights such as access to heath care non existent. This description is far from complete but I just want to give you a bit of a picture of what it was like.

The ANC is an organization dedicated to equal rights for all, and was the main force that fought the apartheid government. Mandela slowly rose up the ranks of the ANC throughout his years as the struggle escalated. After decades of national mass action campaigns such as strikes, protests, and stay-at-homes being crushed with merciless force by the government, the ANC had to abandon its policy of nonviolence and begin acts of sabotage against the regime. This was a very difficult but necessary step and it is incredible to see the struggle within the man and the organization to make such a choice.

Before this the government had “banned” the majority of the ANC leaders, which meant that they could not participate in any meetings, give talks, or have their words or pictures published. Political dissent eventually became completely illegal and the government stepped up the police and military force against all who spoke out against them. Mandela and his colleagues were arrested and tried several times; the first few cases the government had virtually no evidence for their imprisonment, but over time more legislation was introduced to allow them to be persecuted for standing up for their rights. This was legislation that is similar to the “Patriot Act” that was implemented in the US recently to “aid in the fight against terrorism.” The guise is that it allows authorities more power against dangerous criminals, but the problem is that it makes no distinction between criminals and normal citizens; therefore it strips us of the rights we enjoy as citizens of a free and fair country. Mandela was eventually convicted and served 27 long years at the most brutal prison in the country, Robben Island.

Much happened in these nearly 3 decades, but I will leave it to you to read the book for the details. In a nutshell, the masses of people kept protesting, the government got more oppressive, violence ensued, and international condemnation of the SA government mounted. With overwhelming pressure the government finally gave in and a change of leadership ushered in a new environment where negotiations could be made. Many people lost their lives throughout this time, including Mandelas’s own son, but freedom eventually prevailed, as Mandela was released and elected President of SA in the first ever democratic elections with a one-man one-vote policy in SA. The ANC is now the ruling party in SA and there is much progress to be made, but at least everyone is now recognized as equal under the law.
In my opinion, Mandela showed his never-ending integrity throughout his lifetime. Even after so many years in prison, where every technique was used to attempt to break the spirit of the most ambitious man, he came out with the same political will and intention to free his people. Mandela is a model for all humans; he illustrates that perseverance will pay off, and that standing up for your beliefs in the face of the most brutal opposition can result in great things that you cannot even fathom at the time. One time before he was imprisoned, Mandela was in London with a friend and his colleague motioned to a statue in the courtyard of the British Parliament, mentioning in passing that one day maybe it would be a statue of them standing there. Well, history is still being made because I just read that 2 weeks ago, 30 years after this comment was made, there was a statue of Nelson erected in this same spot he walked past…