We use the term “kidnapping” quite often here. For those of you who have been blessed to experience the over-generous, extremely humbling hospitality of people from other cultures, you may have an idea of what I’m talking about.
As a community, we have been kidnapped many times. Often this occurs when we have been invited over a friends house at a certain time and expect to be back 4 hours later but the plans have changed without us knowing and we are brought around to 3 other families houses through their banana farms and fed many more times than we were prepared for (Christmas 2008), other times it is a simple pro-longed visit with extended family members who have traveled a long way and so as watoto wazuri “good children” it is our responsibility to stay. Let me add that none of these kidnappings have been extremely unpleasant or without people we love and care about.
Our choir had been preparing to go to another parish to sing for a long time, I’d say at least two months. At practice the word “Buguruni” would be thrown out about every third song we sang. I got the idea that this was going to be a big deal. As the date got closer, we had practice every day. We practiced the most impossible songs we could find to sing and then decided to put next to impossible dance moves with them. It was all going well. After one last minute switch of the date, the actual day was getting very close. We whipped out our purple couch cushion uniforms from last year (this brutally heavy purple fake satin with a white flower pinned to the front of the dress – they were going to choose pink last year but everyone got such a kick out of saying that Caroline and I were the same color and so it wasn’t going to look good.)
The day of the show/kidnapping: We were asked to meet at the church at 6:30 in the morning, still having my good old American punctuality I arrived 5 minutes before and was the only one there. I actually left a friend behind because I was going to be late. Slowly people arrived and at about 6:45 the bus arrived and we left. We sang out hearts out the entire 7 minutes it took to get to the other church and of course I, who was sitting near the window, was pointed out multiple times because first, I’m white, second, I’m wearing a ridiculous dress, and third, we are singing so loudly people hear us over their own music.
We arrive at the church and I seriously wish I had a camera. The other choir from the church we were going to was waiting on the street singing a welcome song. Did they look smart. They were all wearing long sleeve black button up dress shirts, black trousers or long skirt, black shoes, a white and black diamond checkered sweater vest and a black fedora with black, white and red string tied around it. Their uniforms were accented by a red tie. Seriously. I felt like I was in a speak-easy in the 1930s. It took us about 30 minutes to walk to where we were supposed to be, to line up and to enter the church. I’m always fascinated at the reactions I get when I go places, whether it is people trying to speak English to me or if it is just a blank, curious stare, I can always tell whether there are other white people living nearby or not, most likely they don’t.
We sang so well during the Mass and were tired after the first mass. I thought we were done. Nope, we had to stay and sing the second mass. We sang well but not as well as the first one because we were tired. Second mass done, let’s go. Not so fast. The choir has invited our choir for tea. I was appreciative of this because I was parched and hungry and cold. The hot tea and mandazi (doughtnuts) warmed and filled me up. Ok, time to go now. For some reason we waited and waited and waited. During this period of waiting, all of the seats and benches in the newly built church were put away, I became the topic of conversation between both choirs about how I am going to get married here (I was promised to a choir member’s brother) and then somehow got to talking on segregation in America, we were fed oranges an I was tested in my Swahili by a man walking by by him greeting me in every single way he could and seeing how I responded (I passed). Finally the bus arrived, but by now I had found out that we weren’t going back to our parish. I should note that it was now 2 pm.
We took two buses (the other choir joined us) and we went to the Msimbazi Center, a large area with multiple large halls for events. We were dropped off at this already set up hall and were asked to sit in a certain area, we were going to wait for the other guests to arrive. I made my friend Thadei sit next to me because he is one of the only members who speaks English and I knew this was going to be a long evening. We were asked to intermingle with the other choir members so we looked like a beautiful array of purple, black and white. Slowly other people started to come and then each choir sang a few songs while we waited for the guest of honor to come. Around 4:30 pm the guest of honor shows up, the Head of the Buguruni Parish. Turns out that this is a fundraiser for the choir that invited us to sing at their church. The other guests that came were the teachers and heads of other choirs in Dar. By the time I realized all of this, all I had eaten and drunk the entire day was that tea and mandazi and half an orange. This is one of the troubles of being kidnapped. After we sang a few more songs and an auction started to see who would pay the most money to open the champagne, we were told to get on line for food. The rest of the evening went well, I was only called out two more times for being white, and I thoroughly enjoyed being with the choir for the entire day. Whenever a new group would say how much they were donating, everyone got up and danced to the music that was being played.
Around 7 pm we prepared to leave. Many women in the choir had to leave early because their husbands expected them home at a certain time and they had to cook dinner for their families. We left the Msimbazi Center around 7:30 pm and got back home in Mabibo around 8:00 pm. I had planned on preparing my lessons for Monday on Sunday afternoon, instead I went to sleep at 8:30 and had a “movie day” in class on Monday (not really a movie day, that’s hard to do without electricity, a tv and movies, but we reviewed what we had learned the previous week).
This was by far the worst, and best kidnapping I have experienced.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Monday, August 16, 2010
Tangu Zamani! Since a long time ago!
I apologize sana (very much) for my negligence in posting blogs. To make up for the lack of stories and snapshots of my life, I am currently writing up the stories and experiences that I have had in the past half year that I believe will interest you all. Note: these are in no particular order.
I hope you all will still read them!
Emily
I hope you all will still read them!
Emily
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Siku ya Tamasha
It was the big day of the show. Our kwaya was singing at second Mass which started at 9 am, we had to be at our kwaya teachers house by 8:30 to practice. We all arrived wearing our awesome new uniforms, lavender "satin" skirts and blouses with a sweatheart neckline, a white sash around our waists with a white "rose" and tails hanging down. The skirt has a slit up the side with a white underlay. The woman all braided their hair with rasta and the men wore their new cream colors suits with their lavender skirts. We looked "smart sana" - very smart. There are five choirs at our parish, three at the main church and two at the outstation church, but we all joined together to sing at second Mass.
After second Mass we all gathered in our own choir groups and quicky practiced one last song before the competition was to begin. A little background info - we have been practicing songs for weeks and weeks. Neither Caroline nor I knew what we were practicing these songs for, Christmas maybe? Advent? Feast of Christ the King? We were told that we needed to get our uniforms by the 28th because we were wearing them on the last Sunday in November.
We suddenly realize how serious everyone is taking this event as we separate into our kwayas and sit down, however we still have no idea what is going on. Eventually they announce a line up. Kwaya ya Inyasi Loyola (St Ignatius Choir) will be singing fourth. Oh goodness, this is a competition. They announce that all choirs will sing four songs, an entrance song, one common song (Kwa Nino Leo Mnaimba Kwa Furaha), one traditional song, and then one more African traditional song. We will be judged (by the priests) and then there will be an award. My palms start to get sweaty and my heart starts racing. The first choir goes and sings well, the second one goes and the third one follows. Its time for Inyasi. They call us up and we get into our lines to dance in. Good thing Caroline and I were on the ends of the soprano and alto voices because otherwise I don't think anyone would have seen us (insert extreme sarcasm here). We danced in to an amazing song called "Mvua Inarutubisha Vitu Vyote" (The rain falls down on everything). Next was the song everybody was singing "Kwa Nini Leo Mnaimba Kwa Furaha" (For today you sing with happiness), followed by "Hosana" by Handel, and ended with "Ni Mwanadamu" (I am a person". This last song was accompanied by wanakwaya (choir members) using a kinu (a grinder tool) to make a beat and a stool being swiveled on top of a pot, while the rest of us did a traditional dance from the Fipa tribe. We were in a U shape, and as I mentioned before Caroline and I were the book ends, right in front so everybody could see the wazungu dancing the traditional african dance. I was so relieved when it was over, however Im not going to lie, my instinctual performance mode was in full gear as I was singing in front of a packed church.
We sat down and listened to the last choir sing. Everyone did very well, and they asked each choir to stand up and sing one more song. We awaited the results with anticipation. They started by announcing the last place kwaya, then fourth, the third, and then second. We were none of those. We received 230 points out of 300 points, the highest of all the choirs!!! We were the winners!!! ..or so we thought....They told us to stand up and be recognized because we performed the best out of all the choirs, HOWEVER, our teachers made a mistake and broke one of the rules. We were only allowed to have one conductor and our teachers switched halfway through. So we were deducted ten points leaving us in third place. Turns out that the first and second places get prizes, we ended up getting nothing but "pole sana" (very sorry) from everyone watching. As we walked home, literally everyone we walked by asked us how we did in the Siku ya Tamasha (the dar of the show). We said "tulishindwa" (we were overcome), but we explained what happened. Really we know we were the true winners, and we still pride ourselves on our stellar performance. There is always next year...
After second Mass we all gathered in our own choir groups and quicky practiced one last song before the competition was to begin. A little background info - we have been practicing songs for weeks and weeks. Neither Caroline nor I knew what we were practicing these songs for, Christmas maybe? Advent? Feast of Christ the King? We were told that we needed to get our uniforms by the 28th because we were wearing them on the last Sunday in November.
We suddenly realize how serious everyone is taking this event as we separate into our kwayas and sit down, however we still have no idea what is going on. Eventually they announce a line up. Kwaya ya Inyasi Loyola (St Ignatius Choir) will be singing fourth. Oh goodness, this is a competition. They announce that all choirs will sing four songs, an entrance song, one common song (Kwa Nino Leo Mnaimba Kwa Furaha), one traditional song, and then one more African traditional song. We will be judged (by the priests) and then there will be an award. My palms start to get sweaty and my heart starts racing. The first choir goes and sings well, the second one goes and the third one follows. Its time for Inyasi. They call us up and we get into our lines to dance in. Good thing Caroline and I were on the ends of the soprano and alto voices because otherwise I don't think anyone would have seen us (insert extreme sarcasm here). We danced in to an amazing song called "Mvua Inarutubisha Vitu Vyote" (The rain falls down on everything). Next was the song everybody was singing "Kwa Nini Leo Mnaimba Kwa Furaha" (For today you sing with happiness), followed by "Hosana" by Handel, and ended with "Ni Mwanadamu" (I am a person". This last song was accompanied by wanakwaya (choir members) using a kinu (a grinder tool) to make a beat and a stool being swiveled on top of a pot, while the rest of us did a traditional dance from the Fipa tribe. We were in a U shape, and as I mentioned before Caroline and I were the book ends, right in front so everybody could see the wazungu dancing the traditional african dance. I was so relieved when it was over, however Im not going to lie, my instinctual performance mode was in full gear as I was singing in front of a packed church.
We sat down and listened to the last choir sing. Everyone did very well, and they asked each choir to stand up and sing one more song. We awaited the results with anticipation. They started by announcing the last place kwaya, then fourth, the third, and then second. We were none of those. We received 230 points out of 300 points, the highest of all the choirs!!! We were the winners!!! ..or so we thought....They told us to stand up and be recognized because we performed the best out of all the choirs, HOWEVER, our teachers made a mistake and broke one of the rules. We were only allowed to have one conductor and our teachers switched halfway through. So we were deducted ten points leaving us in third place. Turns out that the first and second places get prizes, we ended up getting nothing but "pole sana" (very sorry) from everyone watching. As we walked home, literally everyone we walked by asked us how we did in the Siku ya Tamasha (the dar of the show). We said "tulishindwa" (we were overcome), but we explained what happened. Really we know we were the true winners, and we still pride ourselves on our stellar performance. There is always next year...
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Kwaya
Caroline and I recently joined one of the choirs at our Church. Our choir, or kwaya, is called the Ignatius Loyola Kwaya and we practice every Monday, Tuesday, and Saturdays and then sing at one of the two Masses on Sundays. We have quickly become a part of the Ignatius kwaya family, and are now expected to attend all of the events and trips thats the kwaya goes on. For example, after signing on Sundays, we go and visit the sick. Each week we visit a different person, but each week no matter how long Mass is, the visit centers me and helps me reflect on my time here. My first visit we went to a member of the kwaya who was sick. We stood outside her house and sang songs for a little while, then we went to another house and did the same thing. It really is a very simple act, however the visible joy that it brings the people we visit makes the entire day worthwhile.
Two sundays ago was Confirmation. The week before all three kwayas from the Church practiced together and prepared for the Auxilary Bishop to come. Practices were long and confusing as all of the songs are in Kiswahili and they were all new to me. As I struggled to learn the songs, I also struggled to obtain the proper uniform we were all required to wear (white long sleeve shirt and a black shirt). A friend helped me out and surprised me with what I needed. It was not quite the same with the songs. It was Iganitius kwaya's turn to sing at Misa ya Kwanza (First Mass at 7 am), so we all were there for the two hour long Mass, dancing and singing. Then we had a short break and lined up for Misa ya Pili (second Mass at 9 am). The candidates lined up dressed in their red and white robes, hair all done up in wigs and silk flowers, high heels, makeup, the works. By this time the sun was beating down on us and there was no shade to be found. We started singing a song I had never heard before and this started to trend of the day (dance and move my lips like I am singing). I should also include that I had a cold the entire week before and was unable to hear very well because of congestion, so even attemtping to sing would have been painful for the people around me. After about a half hour of dancing and singing in our line behind the candidates, we processed into the Church and sat behind the candidates.
Well, let me tell you, this Mass was ther longest, the most lively, and the most celebratory Mass I believe I have ever been to. We did not leave the Church until 1:30 in the afternoon, the Mass lasted 4 1/2 hours. The length of the Mass is just a side note compared to the details of the Mass. The candidates has pratices dances to some of the songs and so at different times they would stand up and perform a choreographed dance, all 300 of them. The kwaya was definitely put to shame. We continued our dancing and singing, but were definitely overpowered by the excited kids. The Bishop met with each of the kids and their sponsors, blessed them, and then at the end of the Mass took pictures with all of them. They danced up the aisle during the offeratory (they usually do this but this time it was extra extravagant and beautiful), in the procession they had a child sitting on the shoulders of a man holding the lectionary high in the air, they presented gifts of bananas, water, bread, the collection (or sadaka), and many other things. Even though we were all fading towards the end, we were all rejuvenated by the excitement and celebration of the day.
The next day I had to attend a Misa ya Rehemu, or Mass of Mercy, for a man who had died the day before. I have never been to one of these here but the kwaya was singing at it so I had to go. I snuck in the back as i was coming from school and they motioned for me to come sit up in the front with them. I arrived just in time to view the body. The coffin was so small and narrow almost seemingly for a child, yet it was an old man who had passed away. Coffins are sold on the side of the road here, literally right next to beds and armoirs. They have bows wrapped around them. Life here is fragile. At the Mass there were women wailing, people comforting, mourning, and trying to accept. It was difficult to watch and experience, especially since the day before, right in the exact same spot, many children received the gifts of the Holy Spirit through Confirmation. It was a very joyous occasion and now 24 hours later we are mourning. The people need the Church. I need the Church. I have found a warm and welcoming family there, especially with the kwaya. I see Mshauri on the street and greet him, Thedei waved at us while we were on the dala yesterday, I work with another member, David, Mama Pascalina waves hello every day when I pass her house on the way to school as does Agnes. My kwaya is my family.
Two sundays ago was Confirmation. The week before all three kwayas from the Church practiced together and prepared for the Auxilary Bishop to come. Practices were long and confusing as all of the songs are in Kiswahili and they were all new to me. As I struggled to learn the songs, I also struggled to obtain the proper uniform we were all required to wear (white long sleeve shirt and a black shirt). A friend helped me out and surprised me with what I needed. It was not quite the same with the songs. It was Iganitius kwaya's turn to sing at Misa ya Kwanza (First Mass at 7 am), so we all were there for the two hour long Mass, dancing and singing. Then we had a short break and lined up for Misa ya Pili (second Mass at 9 am). The candidates lined up dressed in their red and white robes, hair all done up in wigs and silk flowers, high heels, makeup, the works. By this time the sun was beating down on us and there was no shade to be found. We started singing a song I had never heard before and this started to trend of the day (dance and move my lips like I am singing). I should also include that I had a cold the entire week before and was unable to hear very well because of congestion, so even attemtping to sing would have been painful for the people around me. After about a half hour of dancing and singing in our line behind the candidates, we processed into the Church and sat behind the candidates.
Well, let me tell you, this Mass was ther longest, the most lively, and the most celebratory Mass I believe I have ever been to. We did not leave the Church until 1:30 in the afternoon, the Mass lasted 4 1/2 hours. The length of the Mass is just a side note compared to the details of the Mass. The candidates has pratices dances to some of the songs and so at different times they would stand up and perform a choreographed dance, all 300 of them. The kwaya was definitely put to shame. We continued our dancing and singing, but were definitely overpowered by the excited kids. The Bishop met with each of the kids and their sponsors, blessed them, and then at the end of the Mass took pictures with all of them. They danced up the aisle during the offeratory (they usually do this but this time it was extra extravagant and beautiful), in the procession they had a child sitting on the shoulders of a man holding the lectionary high in the air, they presented gifts of bananas, water, bread, the collection (or sadaka), and many other things. Even though we were all fading towards the end, we were all rejuvenated by the excitement and celebration of the day.
The next day I had to attend a Misa ya Rehemu, or Mass of Mercy, for a man who had died the day before. I have never been to one of these here but the kwaya was singing at it so I had to go. I snuck in the back as i was coming from school and they motioned for me to come sit up in the front with them. I arrived just in time to view the body. The coffin was so small and narrow almost seemingly for a child, yet it was an old man who had passed away. Coffins are sold on the side of the road here, literally right next to beds and armoirs. They have bows wrapped around them. Life here is fragile. At the Mass there were women wailing, people comforting, mourning, and trying to accept. It was difficult to watch and experience, especially since the day before, right in the exact same spot, many children received the gifts of the Holy Spirit through Confirmation. It was a very joyous occasion and now 24 hours later we are mourning. The people need the Church. I need the Church. I have found a warm and welcoming family there, especially with the kwaya. I see Mshauri on the street and greet him, Thedei waved at us while we were on the dala yesterday, I work with another member, David, Mama Pascalina waves hello every day when I pass her house on the way to school as does Agnes. My kwaya is my family.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
I Love Clean Sheet Day
The feeling of crawling into bed after you put on clean sheets is almost unbeatable I'd argue. The tightness over the mattress, the coolness of the sheets, aaahhhhhhh. I have always enjoyed this (as I believe many people do), clean sheet day here in Tanzania has taken on a new meaning. After waking up early on a Saturday morning and spending two hours doing laundry, having clean clothes and clean sheets is quite an accomplishment. While I still walk away with battle wounds (raw knuckles and dry hands), knowing that I washed all of my clothes in buckets by hand leaves me with a feeling of pride. I washed my sheets yesterday morning and let them hang out in thet hot sun to dry. I went to check on them later and saw that only one of my two sets made it through the entire process unscathed, a bird pooped on one of my sheets so those had to be rewashed. Washing sheets and clothes used to be as simple as pouring some soap into a machine and turning some knobs. I now walk away sunburned and sore.
Things in my life here may not be as easy, fast or simple as they once were, but once they are finished I feel as if I have completed a great task. Sometimes when it is my turn to cook dinner I think about how nice it would be to open a box of rice and pour it into the water and wait a few minutes and then its done! Or rinsing vegetables under the tap water and then being able to eat them. Here, a simple meal of rice and veggies can take over an hour to prepare. Sorting the rice to take out the rocks, straw, dirt and bugs is a tedious job, having to heat the vegetables is also somewhat tedious, however the alternative of typhoid forces us to continue to do this. Beans have to be cleaned and soaked, no opening a ajr of beans and heating them up on the stove for us, it takes about two hours to cook beans. When we run out of water in our makeshift "running water tank" bucket showers suffice.
Don't get me wrong. This is not a complaining post. I started to think about these things when I realized how much work goes into everything here. The quick way that I was used to donig things at home does not exist here. These are actually the moments when I have the most fun, friends coming to help cook, practicing swahili over sorting rice, having dinner by candlelight when the power goes out. COming back to my original point, coming from a place where I can use a beater to mix ingredients in a cake, pop oatmeal in a microwave and have it be ready in 30 seconds, or high speed internet - having to spend 2-3 hours cooking a simple meal makes me feel like I have accomplished something great but it also makes me very appreciative of the hard work of the Tanzanians here. Everything takes a long time to do. Cooking, cleaning, sewing, washing, everything. To do all of these things on top of raising a family, finding a job or going to work, living with the realities of life here (which I am slowly seeing more and more of and as I see it life here is not fair), is more difficult than I can imagine.
We went to a friends house for dinner two nights ago. They don't have electricity so as it got dark the room became pitch black. They brought out an oil lamp and we ate dinner by that light. Our friend spent literally all day preparing this meal for us, as it takes a long time to cook over hot coals. This is not an exaggeration, he cooked pilau (spiced rice), meat and vegetables and I have no doubt that when he said he cooked all day, he literally cooked all day. Having someone do this for us shows me how much our friendship means to them. It is a sacrifice to spend all of these hours doing something like preparing a meal for other people. It is a sign of love and the "karibu" hospitality found here. People will go out of their way to make sure you are feeling welcome, and if its a good friend you can bet that they will pour themselves into doing something for you.
As I go to sleep on my new clean sheets, I feel accomplished on my own small tasks of washing my sheets and cooking a meal, how also extremely humbled by these experiences. I get a glimpse into what the hard work must be like for people here, but it is only a glimpse. Our friend who cooked us dinner knows about the sacrifices that have to be made, the time that has to be spent on every day chores. The Mamas who carry their children on their back as they sell chapate and mandazi in the morning know the hard work of every day life, the children washing their clothes in the dirty river know the unfairness and the harshness of life. My small experiences elevate the respect I have for the hard workers here to a new level. I thought I knew what hard work was, but after having seen how some of our friends live here my previous thoughts about hard work have been reshaped. I only get to experience the small accomplishments I mentioned before, however, I don't think I can go to sleep on clean sheets again without being grateful for the blessings God has placed in my life and the priviledge of being and knowing life here in Africa.
Thank you for clean sheet day.
Things in my life here may not be as easy, fast or simple as they once were, but once they are finished I feel as if I have completed a great task. Sometimes when it is my turn to cook dinner I think about how nice it would be to open a box of rice and pour it into the water and wait a few minutes and then its done! Or rinsing vegetables under the tap water and then being able to eat them. Here, a simple meal of rice and veggies can take over an hour to prepare. Sorting the rice to take out the rocks, straw, dirt and bugs is a tedious job, having to heat the vegetables is also somewhat tedious, however the alternative of typhoid forces us to continue to do this. Beans have to be cleaned and soaked, no opening a ajr of beans and heating them up on the stove for us, it takes about two hours to cook beans. When we run out of water in our makeshift "running water tank" bucket showers suffice.
Don't get me wrong. This is not a complaining post. I started to think about these things when I realized how much work goes into everything here. The quick way that I was used to donig things at home does not exist here. These are actually the moments when I have the most fun, friends coming to help cook, practicing swahili over sorting rice, having dinner by candlelight when the power goes out. COming back to my original point, coming from a place where I can use a beater to mix ingredients in a cake, pop oatmeal in a microwave and have it be ready in 30 seconds, or high speed internet - having to spend 2-3 hours cooking a simple meal makes me feel like I have accomplished something great but it also makes me very appreciative of the hard work of the Tanzanians here. Everything takes a long time to do. Cooking, cleaning, sewing, washing, everything. To do all of these things on top of raising a family, finding a job or going to work, living with the realities of life here (which I am slowly seeing more and more of and as I see it life here is not fair), is more difficult than I can imagine.
We went to a friends house for dinner two nights ago. They don't have electricity so as it got dark the room became pitch black. They brought out an oil lamp and we ate dinner by that light. Our friend spent literally all day preparing this meal for us, as it takes a long time to cook over hot coals. This is not an exaggeration, he cooked pilau (spiced rice), meat and vegetables and I have no doubt that when he said he cooked all day, he literally cooked all day. Having someone do this for us shows me how much our friendship means to them. It is a sacrifice to spend all of these hours doing something like preparing a meal for other people. It is a sign of love and the "karibu" hospitality found here. People will go out of their way to make sure you are feeling welcome, and if its a good friend you can bet that they will pour themselves into doing something for you.
As I go to sleep on my new clean sheets, I feel accomplished on my own small tasks of washing my sheets and cooking a meal, how also extremely humbled by these experiences. I get a glimpse into what the hard work must be like for people here, but it is only a glimpse. Our friend who cooked us dinner knows about the sacrifices that have to be made, the time that has to be spent on every day chores. The Mamas who carry their children on their back as they sell chapate and mandazi in the morning know the hard work of every day life, the children washing their clothes in the dirty river know the unfairness and the harshness of life. My small experiences elevate the respect I have for the hard workers here to a new level. I thought I knew what hard work was, but after having seen how some of our friends live here my previous thoughts about hard work have been reshaped. I only get to experience the small accomplishments I mentioned before, however, I don't think I can go to sleep on clean sheets again without being grateful for the blessings God has placed in my life and the priviledge of being and knowing life here in Africa.
Thank you for clean sheet day.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
It's a Good Thing I Brought my Swiss Army Knife to Africa...
My Swiss Army knife came in handy yesterday during the preparations for my birthday party. My community mates and I planned on having people over in the afternoon for some chakula (food) and piga story (telling stories).
Before this I should share how I woke up. Starting at 3 am, the rooster who lives literally 3 feet from my room began crowing. Not only did this rooster crow, but all of the roosters in Mabibo decided to have a mini convention and crow at different intervals. After trying to sleep until at least 6:30, I opened my door t streamers o magazine cut outs of celebrities hanging from my door. Nicholas, Caroline, and Christen surprised me with these hilarious pictures of random people along with a happy birthday sign on my door and some other notes attached to the wall. This was going to be a good day!
Slowly people started trickling in around 4, which is actually early since we said it is starting at 3. Nicholas, Caroline and our friend Davey went to get the potatoes for the chips we were going to make. Too many hands and not enough knives, this is where the Swiss Army knife comes in. Christen and I whip ours out and what do you know! We have six people sitting on our front porch peeling many kilos of potatoes and slicing them into french fry wedges. As more people come, the cooking goes quicker and soon enough we are frying all of the chips. Whenever we have a party at our house, we usually cook chips and katchumbali (a vegetable mixture) because its relatively easy to make for a lot of people and they all help cook it. So the fire was set up outside over some charcoal on the ground, the potatoes cooked in about an hour and a half and around 8 pm dinner was ready. We all sat in our living room, 14 of us in total I believe, and the MC, Jeflo, began the evening. Tanzanian birthdays, as I mentioned in a previous post, have a cake feeding part. If you remember, this is my absolute favvvooorrite part, NOT. I loathe this part of the parties because it can be extremely awkward depending on if you know the person feeding you, if they are joking around or being serious, and if you know the other people there. But this time because it was my birthday, I got to feed all of my friends. So I cut the cake (Caroline made a chocolate coconut cake - it was delicious!), into tiny pieces and started to make my way around the room feeding each guest a piece on a toothpick. Not awkward for me, but awkward for some of them!!! Then at the end a few people fed me cake, not too bad because I had done it to all them first. So then after the cake feeding comes the actual dinner (nothing like having dessert before dinner!). The mtoto (child), aka the birthday person, goes first so I got my chips and katchumbali and then everybody else followed. After dinner there is a speech making part to the party, so our MC got up and directed the whole thing. He announced that this was the time for saying any words that they wish to me and wishing me luck in the next year. Slowly, one by one everybody got up and said something. Keep in mind that this whole evening is in Swahili, and some of these people I have only met a few times, one of them I only met one evening for a few hours but he came to my party! Phew, that was finished, I received many blessings from my friends and many nice things were said, but again it was in Swahili so I didn't catch all of it. My favorite part of the whole evening was what happened last. We turned up the music and had a legit dance party in our living room...around the coffee table. Listening to Jay Z, Beyonce, P Square, Rihanna, don't forget the Celine Dion and Shania Twain every once in a while, while dancing in your one small section of the room, watching our friends check themselves out in the mirror and realizing that this was actually happening was the absolute best part of my day. Everyone was having such a good time and we were all together. Thats what a birthday should be.
Times like these make me so thankful for the family I have formed here. These people are not just my friends, but they are the ones we celebrate good times with and commiserate over bad times. While I am away from my own family back at home, celebrations like birthdays and holidays, times when we ge together with our friends and family remind me that I am definitely living the life I love.
Before this I should share how I woke up. Starting at 3 am, the rooster who lives literally 3 feet from my room began crowing. Not only did this rooster crow, but all of the roosters in Mabibo decided to have a mini convention and crow at different intervals. After trying to sleep until at least 6:30, I opened my door t streamers o magazine cut outs of celebrities hanging from my door. Nicholas, Caroline, and Christen surprised me with these hilarious pictures of random people along with a happy birthday sign on my door and some other notes attached to the wall. This was going to be a good day!
Slowly people started trickling in around 4, which is actually early since we said it is starting at 3. Nicholas, Caroline and our friend Davey went to get the potatoes for the chips we were going to make. Too many hands and not enough knives, this is where the Swiss Army knife comes in. Christen and I whip ours out and what do you know! We have six people sitting on our front porch peeling many kilos of potatoes and slicing them into french fry wedges. As more people come, the cooking goes quicker and soon enough we are frying all of the chips. Whenever we have a party at our house, we usually cook chips and katchumbali (a vegetable mixture) because its relatively easy to make for a lot of people and they all help cook it. So the fire was set up outside over some charcoal on the ground, the potatoes cooked in about an hour and a half and around 8 pm dinner was ready. We all sat in our living room, 14 of us in total I believe, and the MC, Jeflo, began the evening. Tanzanian birthdays, as I mentioned in a previous post, have a cake feeding part. If you remember, this is my absolute favvvooorrite part, NOT. I loathe this part of the parties because it can be extremely awkward depending on if you know the person feeding you, if they are joking around or being serious, and if you know the other people there. But this time because it was my birthday, I got to feed all of my friends. So I cut the cake (Caroline made a chocolate coconut cake - it was delicious!), into tiny pieces and started to make my way around the room feeding each guest a piece on a toothpick. Not awkward for me, but awkward for some of them!!! Then at the end a few people fed me cake, not too bad because I had done it to all them first. So then after the cake feeding comes the actual dinner (nothing like having dessert before dinner!). The mtoto (child), aka the birthday person, goes first so I got my chips and katchumbali and then everybody else followed. After dinner there is a speech making part to the party, so our MC got up and directed the whole thing. He announced that this was the time for saying any words that they wish to me and wishing me luck in the next year. Slowly, one by one everybody got up and said something. Keep in mind that this whole evening is in Swahili, and some of these people I have only met a few times, one of them I only met one evening for a few hours but he came to my party! Phew, that was finished, I received many blessings from my friends and many nice things were said, but again it was in Swahili so I didn't catch all of it. My favorite part of the whole evening was what happened last. We turned up the music and had a legit dance party in our living room...around the coffee table. Listening to Jay Z, Beyonce, P Square, Rihanna, don't forget the Celine Dion and Shania Twain every once in a while, while dancing in your one small section of the room, watching our friends check themselves out in the mirror and realizing that this was actually happening was the absolute best part of my day. Everyone was having such a good time and we were all together. Thats what a birthday should be.
Times like these make me so thankful for the family I have formed here. These people are not just my friends, but they are the ones we celebrate good times with and commiserate over bad times. While I am away from my own family back at home, celebrations like birthdays and holidays, times when we ge together with our friends and family remind me that I am definitely living the life I love.
Friday, May 8, 2009
National Geographic-esque
You are looking at a National Geographic magazine special on East African Indian culture. There is a fascinating picture full of color, lights, people, costumes, arabic architecture, the starry night sky, the picture is bursting with music and celebration. Jewels on women's sari's are clinging together and making noise, traditional music is being danced to by henna decorated women and excited men and children. Confetti flies through the air, torches light the different corners of the square.
This is how I spent last weekend. I went to a wedding on Zanzibar with some friends from Dar. Before we left we borrowed saris and jewelery and prepared for our long weekend away. On Thursday I left with some of the family and arrived in the early afternoon. As I was getting ready with some of the other women, I asked them if my dress would be ok, they gave me this look and gave my one of their punjabi's to wear (the Indian dress with the pants underneath). Wearin a bright blue and yellow Indian dress all night was the right kick off to this weekend. I received compliments galore as I entered the temple for the beginning prayer. All the women sat on the floor around the bride who was receiving blessings along with the family. After this we all went back to different houses to rest and regroup before the big event of the evening: the henna party. I got to the party before most of the other guests and was able to soak in the surroundings. There were a bagillion tables, a stage with a fainting couch for the couple, some music, and the scenery of the ocean front with the starry sky. People started arriving and the event began. The couple sat on the stage the entire time, henna was passed out and we decorated each others hands with it (mine is still on my hands), there was some dancing, some food, and a lot of socializing. I had met the family before so it was really nice to get to see them again. At birthday parties here there is a part where ther birthday person feeds cake to each guest and the guests do likewise for the birthday person. I don't think it has to go much without saying that this is my absolutely least favorite part of a birthday party. So of course at this henna party there is cake...and the guests so up and feed the couple...and my friend tells me "Hey Emily, lets go up there together." And I reply with "No, thanks." Instead of saying "ok, thats fine" I get dragged up there literally, have to stand on the stage in front of everyone and feed a complete stranger cake while she is feeding me cake, and then we take a picture.
Thursday night ended around 2 am after some dancing, Friday morning I went to the market with some of the women and then went on a little moped ride around stone town and then to pick up my friend Christen who was coming. After resting we got ready for Friday nights event: the dancing party. We donned our saris and headed off to the huge reception hall. The chairs were set up against the walls (almost like an awkward high school dance) and there was a decorative centerpiece in the middle of the floor. Again the stage was decorated for the couple. They walked in with a processon behind them, they lit some candles in the centerpiece and then following a younger couple doing a choreographed dance, they danced together. After this the singles dance started. Everybody circles the room doing certain simple dance moves, at some points there were circles within circles doing differenty dances. It was very neat to watch because the women wore amazingly beautiful and intricate saris and the men wore traditional Indian clothes as well. Everyone looked beautiful! These dances were a lot of fun but only lasted half the night. About halfway through some performances started. They call this "intermission" funny enough. Some younger family members performed for the bride and groom and we all watched. Very entertaining as they were mostly Indian dances. After this the couples dancing began, still circle dancing but you use sticks and hit them with your partners sticks and then with the persons behind you all as you are turning with your partner and walking in a big circle. A little confusing at first but also a lot of fun! Towards the end of the night we gave up with the sticks and just danced all together. Another late night, got home around 2:30 am.
Saturday morning was supposed to begina at 7 am with prayer at the grooms house, but we didnt arrive there until 9 am. However the celebration was still going on, and we sat and watched at the groom received blessings, perfume, and other dressings from the women of the family. Then we all headed over to the temple fore more prayer and blessings, as this was the day of the actual wedding. I was wearing a white and pink sari, perfect for the morning, and felt absolutely beautiful! The other women were all wearing saris, too, and they kept on asking me if I like to wear them (if you have talked to me about this you know the answer is YES!). After the prayers we had lunch at the temple (Indian food is delicious), and then headed back home to rest and get ready for the wedding. Saturday night was the biggest celebration I have ever attended. We dressed in our nicest saris and went to the grooms house around 7 pm. There was a Tanzanian band playing party music, the groom sat nervously in a car holding a decorated coconut as a gift for the bride (she was going to give him the same), and all of the grooms family was dancing outside the house. The procession started with the band, the family followed behind and the car was last. We all danced in the main streets of Zanzibar all the way to the temple in Stone Town. This is when the National Geographic-ness begins. Imagine a few hundred men and women dancing in the streets of a tropical island adorned with old arabic architecture. There were so many colors from the clothes, the music was loud, people were singing and shouting. There were tourists outside taking pictures of us (that felt kind of weird), and people came out of their houses to watch what was going on. We got to Stone Town where the streets are too narrow for cars to fit down so we all squeezed down these alleys still dancing and finally got to an open square where the dancing swelled. This is where to insert the first image I wrote. I was mixed in with all of the family, being pulled in and out of different circles dancing, singing, laughing, having the time of my life. I felt as if I was in a snapshot from a National Geographic article. After about a half hur of this dancing extravaganza, we all went into the temple for the wedding ceremony. The women sat on the floor as usual and the men stood outside, the ceremony was full of ritualistic things which I wish I knew what they meant. After the cermeony, this was now about 11:30 pm, we went home and eventually went to sleep. Sunday morning came and it was time to leave the Zanzibar island wedding weekend. We said goodbye to the family, I will see them again soon I hope, and went on our way back home to Dar.
I think what struck me the most about the weekend was the hospitality of the family. We borrowed saris from them, they took us on the ferry and opened their homes to us for us to sleep in. The first day I met some new cousins and they literally told me "come with us, we are going to be good friends now." And we were. I saw the people I met last time and the greeted me like a good friend, they fed us, they helped us get dressed, they treated us like any other member of the family. This hospitality is something that I don't know if it will ever stop surprising me. I felt as much a part of their family as any of them did, absolutely incredible.
This is how I spent last weekend. I went to a wedding on Zanzibar with some friends from Dar. Before we left we borrowed saris and jewelery and prepared for our long weekend away. On Thursday I left with some of the family and arrived in the early afternoon. As I was getting ready with some of the other women, I asked them if my dress would be ok, they gave me this look and gave my one of their punjabi's to wear (the Indian dress with the pants underneath). Wearin a bright blue and yellow Indian dress all night was the right kick off to this weekend. I received compliments galore as I entered the temple for the beginning prayer. All the women sat on the floor around the bride who was receiving blessings along with the family. After this we all went back to different houses to rest and regroup before the big event of the evening: the henna party. I got to the party before most of the other guests and was able to soak in the surroundings. There were a bagillion tables, a stage with a fainting couch for the couple, some music, and the scenery of the ocean front with the starry sky. People started arriving and the event began. The couple sat on the stage the entire time, henna was passed out and we decorated each others hands with it (mine is still on my hands), there was some dancing, some food, and a lot of socializing. I had met the family before so it was really nice to get to see them again. At birthday parties here there is a part where ther birthday person feeds cake to each guest and the guests do likewise for the birthday person. I don't think it has to go much without saying that this is my absolutely least favorite part of a birthday party. So of course at this henna party there is cake...and the guests so up and feed the couple...and my friend tells me "Hey Emily, lets go up there together." And I reply with "No, thanks." Instead of saying "ok, thats fine" I get dragged up there literally, have to stand on the stage in front of everyone and feed a complete stranger cake while she is feeding me cake, and then we take a picture.
Thursday night ended around 2 am after some dancing, Friday morning I went to the market with some of the women and then went on a little moped ride around stone town and then to pick up my friend Christen who was coming. After resting we got ready for Friday nights event: the dancing party. We donned our saris and headed off to the huge reception hall. The chairs were set up against the walls (almost like an awkward high school dance) and there was a decorative centerpiece in the middle of the floor. Again the stage was decorated for the couple. They walked in with a processon behind them, they lit some candles in the centerpiece and then following a younger couple doing a choreographed dance, they danced together. After this the singles dance started. Everybody circles the room doing certain simple dance moves, at some points there were circles within circles doing differenty dances. It was very neat to watch because the women wore amazingly beautiful and intricate saris and the men wore traditional Indian clothes as well. Everyone looked beautiful! These dances were a lot of fun but only lasted half the night. About halfway through some performances started. They call this "intermission" funny enough. Some younger family members performed for the bride and groom and we all watched. Very entertaining as they were mostly Indian dances. After this the couples dancing began, still circle dancing but you use sticks and hit them with your partners sticks and then with the persons behind you all as you are turning with your partner and walking in a big circle. A little confusing at first but also a lot of fun! Towards the end of the night we gave up with the sticks and just danced all together. Another late night, got home around 2:30 am.
Saturday morning was supposed to begina at 7 am with prayer at the grooms house, but we didnt arrive there until 9 am. However the celebration was still going on, and we sat and watched at the groom received blessings, perfume, and other dressings from the women of the family. Then we all headed over to the temple fore more prayer and blessings, as this was the day of the actual wedding. I was wearing a white and pink sari, perfect for the morning, and felt absolutely beautiful! The other women were all wearing saris, too, and they kept on asking me if I like to wear them (if you have talked to me about this you know the answer is YES!). After the prayers we had lunch at the temple (Indian food is delicious), and then headed back home to rest and get ready for the wedding. Saturday night was the biggest celebration I have ever attended. We dressed in our nicest saris and went to the grooms house around 7 pm. There was a Tanzanian band playing party music, the groom sat nervously in a car holding a decorated coconut as a gift for the bride (she was going to give him the same), and all of the grooms family was dancing outside the house. The procession started with the band, the family followed behind and the car was last. We all danced in the main streets of Zanzibar all the way to the temple in Stone Town. This is when the National Geographic-ness begins. Imagine a few hundred men and women dancing in the streets of a tropical island adorned with old arabic architecture. There were so many colors from the clothes, the music was loud, people were singing and shouting. There were tourists outside taking pictures of us (that felt kind of weird), and people came out of their houses to watch what was going on. We got to Stone Town where the streets are too narrow for cars to fit down so we all squeezed down these alleys still dancing and finally got to an open square where the dancing swelled. This is where to insert the first image I wrote. I was mixed in with all of the family, being pulled in and out of different circles dancing, singing, laughing, having the time of my life. I felt as if I was in a snapshot from a National Geographic article. After about a half hur of this dancing extravaganza, we all went into the temple for the wedding ceremony. The women sat on the floor as usual and the men stood outside, the ceremony was full of ritualistic things which I wish I knew what they meant. After the cermeony, this was now about 11:30 pm, we went home and eventually went to sleep. Sunday morning came and it was time to leave the Zanzibar island wedding weekend. We said goodbye to the family, I will see them again soon I hope, and went on our way back home to Dar.
I think what struck me the most about the weekend was the hospitality of the family. We borrowed saris from them, they took us on the ferry and opened their homes to us for us to sleep in. The first day I met some new cousins and they literally told me "come with us, we are going to be good friends now." And we were. I saw the people I met last time and the greeted me like a good friend, they fed us, they helped us get dressed, they treated us like any other member of the family. This hospitality is something that I don't know if it will ever stop surprising me. I felt as much a part of their family as any of them did, absolutely incredible.
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