Aroundi

I say, more than a year has passed since I got to Tanzania. At this day of this lovely (and by lovely I mean dusty and gross) month of October has found me in Dar es Salaam. I arrived on the 20th in order to begin planning for a staff training event. As Chair of the Peer Support and Diversity Network or PSDN I’m working with other key members in order to boost synergy between staff. Hooo hooo. Lack of communication is the number one issue that PCVs sited as producing friction between volunteers and PC HQ in Dar. Now we have to figure out how to lube it up. That is to say, let’s build communication skills. How is this done? How do you run an effective training campaign that will improve the way that a culturally split staff that is about 1/3 American, 2/3 Tanzanian shoot the bull with each other? It’s basically offensive to a Tanzanian to cut out the every day small talk and only talk business. American Staffers seem to become very sensitive to this need and act accordingly, often losing their A-typical work drive. On the other hand, us volunteers often need answers about submitted paperwork: grant applications, leave requests, etc. on a timely basis. Like yesterday.

Our idea for training will be to do a group challenge activity to warm everyone up to the importance of communication skills. The challenge called Crossing the River where everyone needs to cross a wide imaginary river using only 3 moveable cardboard stepping stones all within a 15-20 minute time limit should suit our needs. Of course we can talk about how communication is paramount to completing the task and then segue into talking about barriers to good communication. Probably 95% of communication between PCVs and staff occurs via text message over our cellular telephones, which sets the stage for terrible misunderstanding and frustration. A number of volunteers claim they are being ignored by the Dar office when in fact the messages they sent never even got delivered by the spotty network. Potential for improvement ipo.

The Longest Month

Greetings all from the lovely highlands of Mbeya. I have been a bit lax on my blog entries of late, but there's been a lot going on and it's difficult to sit down and clear it all out from my head as frequently and as meaningfully as I'd like. The second term is going along in its average manner. It's not clear exactly how many teachers we'll be losing to the universities this season (they'll be returning to study) but at least two and maybe as many as five. I'll keep on plugging away at school affairs and keep on teaching physics and tending the computer lab. I was excited to hear from my form II students that the physics Mock Exam that they took on the 28th of this month was "not very hard." My best students said it was downright "rahisi." I told them that was a good sign and the reason why I have them busting their butts on my home works and tests. I think they see the method to the madness.

Last week was especially taxing. On Tuesday the 19th the students held a little protest. The day before, students were particularly quiet and tired in class and when I asked why, they complained that they hadn't eaten hardly anything since lunch the previous day. In many Tanzanian schools it sometimes happens that school funds dry up or are used up mysteriously before the end of the school term. When this happens food is one of the first things to go haywire. Part of the problem lies in school fees not being paid on time by the students or not at all. This is why there are often large groups of students absent from school. Anyway, the next day after I heard students weren't being fed enough was Tuesday. Rice day-- for lunch, instead of the usually ugali, which is the common stable, corn flour and water mixed to a stiff but smooshy lump and beans the students get rice and beans. On that day, that the rice was delivered late and students were told that they would eat ugali for lunch and rice would be cooked for dinner. Well, this didn't sit well with the students, and the leaders among them saw a chance to "stick it to the man," so to speak. From my house at the top of the hill, I could hear a rising tide of young female voices like a stampede. I decided I would head down to the office to and investigate on the way. A large group of students were situated on either side of the roadway some holding sticks, chanting and singing "sisi wasichana, tuna weza." Teacher who tried to command the students to move into the dining hall were jeered at in what I thought was a humorous display of young spirit. I have heard stories of how students elsewhere had razed their entire school when school issues were not dealt with satisfactorily. So as a crowd of students enveloped me, I said what I felt. "I think its good to express your views to teachers, but don't destroy your school." In one voice (TZian students somehow speak in unison without warning) they said "hatutaki."Knowing that they probably meant no real harm I continued on my way. When I got down to the office I found 10 students hiding out in the computer room. "They said they'd beat us if we went to eat or went to study in the class rooms," I was told. Other teachers had met in the assistant headmaster’s office and were discussing actions to take. I was told that rice had arrived and was being cooked but the students were still not cooperating. I asked if there was an action plan if the students got violent. "Girls can't do that," they said first, and when I pushed the issue, they said students who did so would be chased from the school. I'm not sure about the mechanism, but about an hour later, the students had quieted down and eaten.

The next day...A fire bomb may as well been thrown through the window of the discipline masters office. Beginning in the morning, a group of students were made to stand 50 paces apart in full sun, presumably until they tattled on the ring leaders of the civil disobedience that had taken place. After, teaching 40 minutes of my first double period of the day, I was interrupted by two student teachers (new arrivals this term). They told me that they wanted to begin the interrogation. I asked if it could be done after the lesson. They said it would take all day. I asked for 5 minutes to conclude. The 5 minutes passed and I asked if there were questions. As I neared the door a girl lobbed one about the rheostat we had been discussing. I began to answer the question when the door to the class opened to reveal the student teachers waiting impatiently. I continued to deliver my answer to one of the precious few questions I get per week, when I heard "mwalimu!" and impatient clicks of the tongue from the doorway. Now, there have been many instances when I have had reason to speak curtly to my fellow teachers but mostly I keep my lips sealed for the sake of preserving the status quo (extremely important). This time, however, the dude could not abide, and as I left the class room I said in a quivery voice, (anger does that to me) "don't ever disrespect me in front of my class ever again, when a student has a
question I mean to answer it. Sorry about your investigation."

I knew the students would be beaten, but I also knew that no teaching would get done for the rest of the day, so I took off to Tukuyu to print a practice exam (pre Mock) that I had planned for the Form IIs. That evening, when I returned, I went to announce to the form IIs that the test was ready and to establish a time to do it. I also went to find out how the investigation went. "Please, teacher we can't do the test tomorrow, our hands won't write and tomorrow the punishment will continue." Fine. On my way to the computer room Martha Mgaya a form IV and former school leader asked me if I had any medicine for a student. My god, the girls wrist looked as though it had been broken it was so swollen she could barely move her fingers. Then another girl with such an arm came to me. Then more and more were asking for "dawa." I zipped home and brought some aspirin. Two of the hardest cases got 4 pills each, 2 for the next morning. The growing horde of others got turned down. There wasn't nearly enough to go around. I felt awful for what had happened and that I hadn't been there to do a thing about it (not that I necessarily could). I resolved to be present for the second round to follow.

What followed was a sort of kangaroo court. Students whose names were mentioned were brought one by one in front of the teachers and the discipline master (also the assistant headmaster) and asked questions like: "why did you sneer at teachers," Why didn't you go to eat lunch? "Who told you to gather outside the dining hall?" etc. These were the questions asked in between beatings. When each girl was called, she first had to make her way past two teachers by the doorway holding sticks. These teachers would take a few surreptitious whacks at the student usually at their backs or sides. Upon entering the room the students were made to stand in chalk circle and face one direction, failure to understand this resulted in more whacks. Now, it is nothing new to see students hit with the fimbo, this day was different however, the day of the gathering, teachers had lost the total control that they usually exercise over the students. In addition, the students were plain disrespectful in the way that they sneered at one teacher in particular, who had earlier been accused by other students of sleeping with their classmate (that case came before the whole teaching body but was dismissed on the fact that the principle prosecutor was "a trouble maker"). Rather quickly the whacks with the fimbo were punctuated by hard handed slaps to the face and side of the head. One girl came through the door and was immediately slammed on the floor by the teacher accused of sleeping with students afore mentioned. Girls were beaten when they were down, kicked, kneed, all the while being interrogated; wide eyed and terrified they found it difficult to answer.

It was not merely the violence of the whole affair that was difficult to bear (although my adrenaline levels spiked several times during the 5 hour ordeal), but it was the particular relish that the teachers seemed to get out of asserting their authority in such a way. Girls who were fast to tears were scoffed at. When they didn't stand properly and were hit, they were called idiots and more laughs were garnered. Many of the girls were dehumanized before they were even asked any questions. "This girl", the second headmaster would begin, "is an orphan. She has come to Kayuki and has been nothing but trouble. She's been a whore; can't you see that she will always be country trash?" Nearly all of the instigators of the Tuesday sneering were orphans. One by one, some of my best students (the free thinking ones) were brought up in front of all the teachers, called whores, and lesbians and the like and beaten into submission. Three days earlier, not a single person or object was physically harmed during the gathering that sparked this whole mess.

All the while I constantly had thoughts of leaving the country. How could I work with any of these people again after knowing what they are capable of. After knowing that the violence perpetuated that day was justified in the minds of all the participants except for myself. How could I forgive myself for not having stood on some sort of moral high ground and prevented it from happening? Fuck. That kept coming into my mind. How fucked up will I be when this is over?

Oh, it messed with me all right. I wasn't sure whether I should call Peace Corps right then and ask for a school transfer or early termination or wait it out until mid-service conference. These thoughts ran through my mind again and again, but I also thought about how other Tanzanian schools operate in a similar way and there have been even worse horror stories. I thought about how leaving would show all the Tanzanians I had met that, indeed, Americans are far different from them and we cannot be expected to work together. I thought about the two year commitment that I had made to myself, to finish my service abroad.

After the kangaroo court ended, and I was able to walk out of the computer room which was now tainted with the days events I was finally able to breathe fresh and begin to compose myself. A conversation about free will and the laws of Tanzania with one of the new teachers helped to calm me and express how I felt that violence begot violence and that maybe the girls would listen if we explained that student protests were feared legitimately because so many other schools (boys schools or coed) had been destroyed by student riots; that we could have turned the whole process into a learning experience, without the use of brute force. Then, when I saw the smiling face of a student who had been beaten as she carried a bucket of water into the office building, I realized that the whole thing was ridiculous. No one had been killed, but from my perspective, a horrible atrocity had occurred that day. In reality, similar things happen every day in Tanzania and countless other countries in the world. In reality, people are summarily executed for inciting a protest in some places in the world. In reality, life is f*ing violent for most people. The fact that I come from a middle class American bubble made the whole affair so ugly. The fact that I want to become a doctor and therefore bear only tenderness in my heart for all human kind also made it difficult, but don't doctors deal with the consequences of violence all the time? The girls had survived that day and most of them would continue studying at Kayuki after completing other punishments and suspensions. Despite having words with the second headmaster, there was nothing else I could do in that situation short of disrespecting the way that everyone else thought the issue should be handled, and jeopardizing my work here. My leaving wouldn't help any of those girls.

What it comes down to is, yes it is difficult as hell to see people commit real, violent acts against others (though we enjoy it in the movies), but to be able to come out of it and say ok, that was awful for me, but I don't want to walk away from the situation or culture that produced it. I would rather mull it over rationally, level it philosophically, and decide whether or not we can continue living and working together. It is somewhat irksome for those would be moral stalwarts who always "stand up for what's right," and believe me it leaves a sick feeling in the stomach sometimes, but it is also what makes a diplomat. It is about understanding that there are different ways of living through a day everywhere you go, looking the most foreign of those in the face and coming out of the whole thing with a deeper appreciation for this little mess we call existence. If you don't come out of it with appreciation, there's always the depression rout, which I considered but decided would be counter productive. Suffice it to say I recently finished The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath.

PS. My memory card reader is on the fritz, so pictures haven’t been making their way to the wide web. I’ll see a man about a usb cable.

July is so cold!

Back to school, back to school to prove to students that they are not fools. Most of my students at Kayuki Secondary carry the attitude of that I observed in many of my fellow college students: questioning is bothersome. And that includes answering the teacher’s questions. Anybody, anybody… With this being the first week back from our month long break, I hope that I can start fresh and get these girls using their inner skeptic. It is a real challenge to get any participation at all except from the most outspoken students. First I thought that the main problem was lack of confidence in using English. That’s fine. But since the beginning of the school year in January, I’ve been teaching primarily in Swahili. Notes on the board come out as English but my explanations of diagrams and physical phenomena are in a mish-mash of two languages. There are simply no good words in Swahili for “refraction.” I can do my level-best with “kupinda njia ya mwanga.” But since the students are required to complete grueling exams in English, I should make more of an effort to help them improve.
Note to the Tanzanian Ministry of Education and Peace Corps: send English teachers. We should be assigning teachers to elementary schools to teach English and to teach students that asking questions is a sign of intelligence (especially the kind that is exercisable). Change in education must come from the bottom up. It is unlikely that people change their behavior later in life, therefore, instill the kind of critical thinking skills that are desirable for higher learning when students are young before other behaviors take precedence. Blah blah blah.

In other news, I’m unofficially the official health guru for villagers and school staff. I suppose this development began last February when I bandaged up S. Karapa’s split-open finger and sent her to get stitches at the hospital. In reality, she just went to the nearest dispensary and the smeared her with gentian violent and plaster. I saw her almost a week later with the same damn bandage on looking like it had gone through the digestive system of a ruminant. “Ok,” I said “but you need to change the bandage.” Unfortunately, she was afraid to unwrap the thing because of the pain it would cause. I told her that if she didn’t keep it clean it would cause worse pain that she thought possible. Three house calls later, I was satisfied with the dryness of the wound and stopped seeing her often (it’s a trek into the valley). Since then, there’s been a trickle of people who come specifically to Kayuki Secondary to see me. One such occasion Mama Siri, my house help, brought the son of the local plumber to the school with a small puncture on his left knee. Upon examination, I found that whatever he had landed on had pierced clear through the dermis and there was a small cavity between his skin and patella. Poor little guy, I aspirated with my mono-ject syringe (you know the one you get after your wisdom teeth are removed, I knew there was a reason I brought it) and filtered-boiled water. Unfortunately, butterfly bandages wouldn’t hold because someone had smeared his leg with honey. I can’t decide if this was ingenious on their part or just a pain in the butt. Clean cotton and an ace bandage—which will impress any Tanzanian btw—did the trick nicely although I haven’t done a follow-up.

It starts getting a little more “real” when people start asking you to give them injections. My own personal aspirations aside, it is not at all wise to go about handing out injections for every little annoyance. Therefore I told my TZian twin (he calls me that) that I would get some crystal penicillin but that we should keep it on hand for a real emergency. The fact that his right inguinal lymph node was swollen to high-hell seemed to me a good sign—that the hot compresses were stirring things up and getting fluids moving up to the trunk again. Things are always more complicated with elephantitus don’t ya know. Anyway he’s got to get other things in his life sorted out, especially the drinking.

In other news, I’ve become somewhat apprehensive about a media program at Kayuki. Until students become more proficient at using computers and we do some general upgrades of hardware, running video editing software would present more problems than anything else. Also, I’ve stepped up the course-work form my Physics students and hence increased my own work-load. No worries. Villagers from Bujela, Itura and Ngujubwaje all are interested in learning about permaculture gardening and there is a plan in the works for weekly sessions at a demonstration/research plot out in the boonies. It’ll be hard especially since most people know a lot about farming already. What seems to surprise them is the methods for fertilizing the soil that they are not taking advantage. Kumbe! Actually, I didn’t know that 1 part urine mixed with 5 parts water was somehow as good as commercial urea either.

Well that’s the news from Tukuyu. Say hello to the country for me.

A piece o cake

Well, we wrapped up(sort of) the first term at Kayuki Secondary. After grading the physics exams and writing my end of term report for peace corps, the nearby and wonderful PCVs: Amber and Kavisa came to Kayuki, and together, we facilitated the first Girls Empowerment/HIV,AIDS awareness confrence at site. We also received tremendous support from each of our counterparts Lukasa, Elizabeth and Gloria. Many thanks to them who ran excellent sessions and were absolutely essential players in a successful event.

What surprised (and delighted) us was the level of enthusiasm that the girls maintained almost constantly for the duration of the three days of sessions and which culminated in an extraordinary presentation of peer education skills planned and rehearsed by our confrence participants. about 150 Kayuki students attended the show and learned about good decision making skills, safe behavior models, and how to use condoms via all student skits and demonstrations.

...I say, simply wonderful. Now that the confrence is over and I'm finished filling out those nasty student report cards (my signature actually started failing toward the end because of the yips) I get to enjoy some vacation. Well, not yet, but having arrived in Dar es Salaam, the seat of urbanity in East Africa I feel like vacation has already started despite the fact that I'll technically be in PSDN (Peer Support and Diversity Network) training for the next three days. Badaa ya hapo lakini, I'm going to Zanzibar to enjoy Stonetown, Jovani forest, and hopefully a beach stroll and a dip in the ocean.

Post your shout out to Zanzibar now and I'll be sure to deliver the message when I arrive there.

Something Good

Something Good

The beginning of last post may have painted a bleak picture of my experiences in the past month of service. This post is about something good. Food! One of the best things about food in Tanzania is that a much high percentage of the produce is grown and consumed locally. So along with this thought, here's another mini-lesson in swahili (refer to the pics). "Ya kinyeji," which translates as "locally made" has become my mantra while shopping in the local markets. The difference is most apparent in the eggs that are available. For 150 shillings you can buy a yai la kisasa, or "modern egg." Laid by kuku wa kizungu (foreign chickens) fed mostly pumba (corn meal). OR, for 200 shillings a difference of about 5 cents in USD, you can get a "yai la kinyeji". Chickens that forage for insects and seeds and wander far from their coops. The difference is like that described in Omnivores dilemma.

1UP

A new chapter starts as we continue with the school year at Kayuki Secondary. In attempts to improve the future examination outcomes of our form II and form IV students, members of the school staff have been requested to put in extra teaching and conference hours. Between my extra “remedial” courses for form IIs and the continuing computer lab schedule life is as busy as ever. One new development should prove to be very helpful to preparing students for the national examinations (NECTA) that is having received numerous past papers in digital format from fellow PCVs. I hope to categorize the questions based on their topic outline in the syllabus so that teachers wishing to write tests can draw upon a NECTA type question bank.

Unfortunately with increased discipline among students and staff, corporal punishment has also increased to keep stride. Today, May 1, “May day” is supposed to be a day of rest for the world’s workers and about 30 students seemed to think that day of rest also applied to them. However, on my way to the offices, there they were in two rows straining in frozen pushups supported by there clenched fists and knuckles against the ground. When their strength would give out, down onto their knees they’d go and hold up their hands to receive the kiboko. All around the school, other students were busied with cutting grass or cleaning classrooms and dormitories. No holiday for Kayuki girls.

Yesterday we had a sport day where we invited the teachers of Lutengano Secondary (Amber’s site) to compete in basketball and volleyball here at Kayuki. They showed up in force with something like 15 competitors. We only had enough for a team of 5 with 2 substitutions. So, what happens when you take 9 competitive Tanzanians and get them playing a game that hardly any of them know? A lot of holding, shoving and just plain dirty ball. Since David Mwaipopo and I have actually played together a bit we pretty much dominated. The other team got possession of the ball enough, but no one could score worth a damn. Every time we scored a point, hell broke loose. The 500 or so Kayuki students who had been slowly accumulating at the edges of the court would go into fits of soccer-fan elation. Each time we got a basket, they’d flood the court and scream, as though it were the winning point of a playoff game. Of course I thought it was inappropriate behavior, but Amber told me it was the same whenever they had a soccer match at Lutengano. By the end of the match and volleyball, I was worn out mostly by the energy the students were radiating. Although I was a little overwhelmed by all the excitement, I can see how it would be a really big deal for Kayuki girls to whip Lutengano. First off, Kayuki is an all-girl’s government school. Lutengano is a private, co-ed institution about twice the size. Kayuki has had abysmal results on the Form IV certificate examination in the past years; Lutengano’s have been middle of the road. I suppose that school pride is one thing that gives students motivation to work hard and study for the NECTAs. We teachers were practically carried out of the arena like champions. It’d be nice to see the girl’s compete as well, and our student b-ball side is really quite good, considering. Maybe that’s the next step, after teachers break the seal, students will push for matches for themselves.