Mzungu, Mzungu, Mzungu!

Back again in the "Hot Bread Shop" a safe haven of yummy food and computer access in Arusha. I moved into my homestay a few days ago in the nearby township of Tengeru and spent my days there learning the foundation of Bio-Intensive Agriculture.

It's FASCINATING! Tanzanian experts (some speaking English and some who don't) have been working with GSC for decades, promoting these strategies of compost preparation, urban gardening, and revolutionizing poor or overused soil through compost, organic pest management, and crop rotation. It's all so easy, so much better for the land, much healthier for the people, provides more efficient yields for market sales, and it's just REALLY interesting! We've had classroom time, and practical time in the garden, learning everything from the chemistry dynamics of nutrient rich soil to the best time of day to plant certain vegetables. It's given me so many ideas for other projects- including the Michigania compost program and future vegetable garden! I love dirt.

bugs birds moo cow crow buzzzzzzzz

This really isn't fair to say so early in the game, but this is really my only chance to say it, so I'm going to:

I don't like homestays.

I know, I know, I've been in one for four days, give it time lalala. Meh. My homestay Mama is lovely, the house girl Naima (sp?) is lovely, the house is beautiful, I have a real toilet. Lovely, lovely, lovely.

None of that changes the fact that I'm living in someone else's HOUSE.

This was the bit I was most apprehensive about when I signed on for this, because the whole concept sounded terrifying from the start. I came into it with my mind pryed open, and I'm still trying to breathe and adjust.... it's just awkward.

My homestay Mama is fantastic. She's a very intense woman and I wouldn't dare cross her, but she's very sweet and has had many interns stay with her before so she's used to our Americanisms. She has a good job with the government working at the Integrated Pest Management division of the Ministry of Agriculture- located right in Tengeru along with the Agriculture college. She is always in fashion and is always relieved when I clean myself out of my gardening clothes and put on a skirt, haha. Her children are away at boarding school, so it's just me, Mama, and the housegirl. Naima is my constant motivation for getting better at swahili because she doesn't speak any English. We laugh at each other as we try to communicate... usually giving up with a smile.

Sidenote: I just met someone from Cambridge and someone else who goes to Harvard. The world is oh so small.

I'm lonely.

Life here is fabulous, it's just early, and I don't speak the language, and the only other volunteers in my program are essentially married. At least 10x a day I ask myself: why I didn't go to one of the 20 developing countries that speak Spanish, where I could do essentially the same work while being able to communicate? True as that may be, my frustration becomes motivation for learning Swahili- a language I've wanted to learn for years- and a reminder that I don't believe in comfort zones. If this was going to be easy I wouldn't have come.

I'm homesick, or campsick, or Englighsick, or something. But I'm learning, and I'm happy, and I have to remind myself that I JUST GOT HERE. haha.

The title of this entry is "mzungu." Mzungu is my new least favorite word. It means "white person." Let me tell you a story: Once upon a time a white person came to Tanzania and gave everyone money, soda, and pens and said "whenever you see a white person, yell MZUNGU!" That is the only explanation I can muster for why people do it all the time. Okay, not really. I get it on some level, it's just obnoxious. It's like: Thank you ever so much for reminding me that I am one of four white people in at least 10 square miles, and that I can't really communicate with you that confidently yet. Ciao.

This has been my strategy for combating the deadly WGS (white girl syndrome)
--when someone says "Mzungu!" I point back and say "Mtanzania!"
--when someone asks me for money I ask THEM for money
--introduce myself as much as possible so that I'm not just a random Mzungu
--study my swahili notes... every spare moment

Super Useful Phrases:
--Mimi si mtali (I am not a tourist)
--Sielewi (I don't understand)



And now for storytime.


In fair Tengeru where we lay our scene, a group of Tanzanian and American interns went with their instructor to a restaurant for lunch. Upon hearing the prices for a plate of rice and beans the (white) instructor got angry and insisted that we were being had because we looked like tourists, and demanded a more reasonable price. The waiter went to talk with the manager, the coordinator went to talk with the manager, and from there it got very awkward and very ugly. In a few quick minutes the manager and coordinator came to thinly veiled verbal blows, with the coordinator insisting the prices were racially based and the manager taking offense at the accusation. We were asked to leave. If you want my opinion, I would be happy to give it to you first hand, but I'm not about to plaster it on the internet. It was highly unfortunate to say the least. Today I went to get the manager's phone number, and I'll be calling her later today to talk.

Another story!

On a far lighter note, my homestay mama brought me with her to a wedding reception the other night. I was exhausted and on top of that the Mamas kept filling my wine glass. Finally, as I was about to nod off to sleep, I figured out that I should leave the glass partially full so they wouldn't feel inclined to fill it. They encouraged me to have more, asked what was wrong with it, etc etc and I did my best to smile and asante sana them- Mamas here are forever trying to fatten you up.

After a while of waiting and watching and not understanding 95% of what was being said, I snapped back into things when I realized that I heard "mzungu" and when I looked up about 100 people were looking at me. My homestay Mama leaned in and told me that the mzungu would now accept a bit of the roasted goat that had just been wheeled in.

SO.

I walked up to the front of the hall and in front of 100 local Tengerus and a video camera the bride and groom fed me goat meat of a tooth pick which I accepted "on behalf of all woman kind."

WHAT?

It was a huge honor dispensed readily and undeservingly onto me, simply because I was so clearly a visitor. A hilarious story that I'll treasure forever, but isn't that just... odd?

You would think after all of the trouble Wazungu have caused from the slave trade, to colonialism, to mineral extraction, to IMF and WTO restructuring programs.... after ALL THAT, you would think I would get run out of the village not honored with the first bit of goat meat.

Well, it was pretty damn cool, I'll give it that.

Allrighty then. My computer minutes are about to run out so I'll finish up by saying that about an hour ago I got an email saying I got into the BU Public Health Internship/Study Abroad Program in Geneva, Switzerland for next semester! Huzzah!!!! Looks like the blog will be going all year :-)

Also, I'm terribly sorry about the phone troubles. I had to get a new phone with a new number. It is as follows (country code etc etc is already applied, so this should work as is from the US)

011 255 759 540 712

It's pretty early where most of you are so have a great day stateside or wherever else you may be!