One Month Later, and Mzungu: Revisited

It's been a month.

I love what I've been doing, even if the program is frustrating sometimes. I love the people I work with, even if I get really lonely by myself out in Tengeru. Weekends kind of suck. I just don't have much to do, and it takes at least an hour to get into Arusha. I'm going to try to be more proactive with my weekends, and now that four new volunteers are here, I think I'll have more fun.

This past week we were back in Makoyuni, and our calls for busier, more demanding days were heeded and then some. As opposed to the week before when we were overstaffed during chicken vaccinations that lasted just a few hours each morning, ending our work day by noon, this week we were completely exhausted. Bio-intensive agriculture training, HIV training, chicken vaccinations, and digging enormous rainwater collection wells called "Hafirs." We were uber busy but it was great to be in Makoyuni where everyone knew us. We were happy to work- it's why we came here. The drought here has worsensed considerably in these last remaining weeks before the rains come. We came up with some great new editions to Andrew's game show premise, "What's That Smell?!" Sweat and animal carcass being among them, with outhouses still in the lead. One day Jordan suggested that we might stumble upon a Global Service Corpse, and I laughed so hard that I had to sit down for a while.

I've realized that I have only taken about two dozen pictures. When Mum asked me about pictures the other night, I said that it was hard to take a lot of pictures. For one thing, it makes you look like a tourist and you can attract a lot of unwanted attention. More often, though, it attracts attention of people who want their pictures taken so that they can see it on the digital screen. Most people here don't have mirrors, so they don't generally have a good concept of what they look like on any given day. There isn't a mirror in my homestay- I use the back of my ipod or take a picture if I want to see. Regardless of all this, I need to suck it up and take more pictures, because it truly is gorgeous here.

One thing I will be taking more pictures of is the crazy collections of second hand clothing flying around. If you haven't seen the movie "T-Shirt Travels" you really should, because I'm living in it. Most clothing donations from the states end up not donated, but sold here and in in other developing nations. They arrive by the bundle to the used clothing market and other individuals who sell them to locals. The result is a nation clad in hilarious and sometimes downright offensive English phrases on them. You know those t-shirts you get for fundraisers and sports teams? They're here. Those shirts that get pulled from shelves because people have threatened legal action against the store? They're here too. Sometimes it's Wolverines, MSU, Insurance companies, Buffalo Women's Volleyball, Relay For Life, or Mississippi Teacher's Conference. The highlight of last week was I (heart) Gay Porn. I keep looking to see one of my shirts that I gave up years before- who knows what, when, or where.

These shirts have raised interesting questions among the Americans and those who speak English. Does it matter if it says something offensive in a language you don't speak? Is English lettering trendy or just by accident?

This morning when I was walking up to Tengeru town to catch the daladala into Arusha, and I froze in my tracks when I spotted a confederate flag t-shirt. The craziest part was that at first, I straight up hallucinated: when I saw the shirt I immediately pictured it on a middle aged white guy with a big belly. Isn't that terrible? I apparently have a clearly preconcieved and prejudiced notion of who would wear that shirt and for what reason, and I was outraged and confused to see it here. This only lasted about a second or two, and when I realized who was actually wearing it (a black Tanzanian guy in his mid 30s) I approached him slowly. I asked in English if he knew what his shirt meant. He didn't understand my English and neither did his friends so I called out to see if anyone spoke English. They didn't, so I just walked off in a daze to catch the daladala. I was so out of it that I tripped getting on the bus and gave everyone a good laugh at the clumsy mzungu.

So, what do you think?

Does it matter what the symbol means if you don't recognize the symbol? Does it matter if the words are offensive if you don't know what the words mean? Who's definition counts and in what context? I thought about it for a long time. I decided that it didn't really matter what my opinion was, not really, not right now. The extent of my opinion that did matter to me was that I felt obligated to see if he knew that flag's relevance in American and African history- not so that he would see he was wrong to wear a shirt, but to make sure he had all of the information so that he could make his own decision. It might not have been my business, but I'm looking up the swahili so that I can talk to him if I see it again.

Lost in Translation: Me, English, the confederate flag, and Mzungu

I think I spent too much time in Boston, or even New England, to be particularly comfortable in Arusha. I have always felt that in general people are too hard on one another, but Tanzania has taken casual niceties to a painful degree. I stick out like a sore thumb, and when they see me, most of them take notice. The nature of their notice varies considerably. It could be "Habari" or "Huambo" or "Shikamoo" all of which are legit. It could be yelling "Mzungu" the Swahili word for "white person" or "foreigner."

MZUNGU MZUNGU point, wave, giggle, HELLO GOOD MORNING MZUNGU whistle hiss

Yeah, I'm not really down with that.

Or if perhaps they know some English they will take the opportunity to practice. Sometimes they are trying to sell you something or ask you for something, a lot of the time they want to get your cell phone number, and sometimes it's totally innocent and they are just being nice.

To be a brutally honest ugly American, I am generally not down with any of those either.

Check it:

"Oh Jambo Jambo, Hallo my friend! Rafiki! Do you know what 'rafiki' means? Rafiki means friendy! Where are you from? What is your name? How long have you been here? Say 'pole pole' means slow slow, speak slow."

I have gotten this multiple times a day, every day, for one month.

Now, you must be thinking: what's the big deal? Just be nice to them or tell them you don't need help. Well, I am at the point where I know enough Swahili to get them to chill out and leave me be, but no amount of Swahili will get them to keep from approaching me. I'm sorry. I just don't think it's my responsibility to have a conversation with every tenth or fifteenth or fiftieth person who approaches me and wants my life story and cell phone number, just because my physical appearance makes it obvious that I'm not local.

Back. The Frick. Off.

Everywhere I go people assume that I don't know Swahili and that I will be magically impressed with them for teaching me something. When I went to the U.N. on Saturday to use the FedEx inside, the armed guard was trying to teach me how to say "Thank you" and other basic phrases I learned well before I got here. Once I got through the security check I could barely contain my frustration or my English curses. Leave me alone. I'm exhausted.

This doesn't happen everywhere. The laughing and mzungu calling is surprisingly bad in the township of Tengeru where my homestay is, and Arusha is downright miserable sometimes. Staying in the village of Makoyuni was wonderful, because we were there for two weeks, people got to know us, and everyone knew our names or was willing to ask politely.

Let me say it again: I don't think it's my responsibility to indulge anyone who wants to talk to me or get my number just because I stand out.

The "Mzungu" thing has other interesting qualities too. I started thinking about it one day this week, and I asked myself if it would bother me as much if they were yelling "American! American!" instead of the equivalant of "White Person! White Person!" and while I think race gets my attention more, "American" would drive me just as bonkers. They call Asians and other distinctly different ethnicities "Mzungu" as well, and I imagine that doesn't sit well with them from a racial standpoint, although that's a highly unfounded assumption since I haven't asked any. I was also thinking about the language bit. How do French, or Dutch, or Germans feel when everyone jabbers at them in English, assuming it's their first language? I haven't asked any of they either, but I think we can wager that the French do not want to be associated with any language but their own.

If you haven't noticed already, I'm been having my global identity cracked open into a blender. Stay tuned for the main course.

In other news I drew my first uterus today. I've completed the bulk of my sustainable agriculture program, and now I'll be focusing in HIV/AIDS training sessions. Today was our first of five classroom sessions with a group of about 15 women between the ages of 20 and 50. I can already tell it will be an interesting week. For example, most of the questions today were about mother to child transmission and prevention. This was fascinating and challenging, because I quickly realized that our program was skipping a few crucial steps. How do I teach HIV prevention to a group of people who have never had a proper sexed class or science class? How do you explain the nature of a virus vs. bacteria, define DNA, or talk about internal organs that most people have never seen a picture of and cannot visualize? I'm about to print out some pictures of anatomy, because I just don't think my drawing of the female reproductive organs was doing the body justice. Some might say that this is not the basic neccessity, that people need knowledge of condoms not a concrete understanding of a virus. Well, maybe, but I don't think that's necessarily true. How can I explain modes of transmission if they don't differentiate between vaginal and amniotic fluid? That's just not going to happen. We're there to educate, so we might as well do it correctly.

Yes, it's been quite a month.

I'm homesick sometimes, and lonely sometimes, but I'm glad that I'm here, and trying to make the most of it. It's been hard to be here alone, but I'm getting the hang of it, and I'm glad for the experience, and I'm thrilled that there are new volunteers here now. It's amazing the things you miss, though. I miss cereal and milk. When I get back to the states I want an enormous black bean and cheese burrito with chips and salsa. Vegetarians eat tons of beans here, but they don't have blackbeans! Cheese withdrawal hit me hard after being at camp all summer, haha. And salad! No one eats lettuce here, and it's tough to get fresh vegetables. For breakfast in Makoyuni they would fry up tortilla-like things called Chappati. I determined pretty quickly that I can't eat fried egg dough for breakfast. One day last week I ate bread and marmalade instead, ignoring the ants crawling on the loaf. A trusty advisor said the bread was fine despite them, so I just smeared blueband over them and ate breakfast for a change. Beyond the food I miss crashing in front of the couch to watch a movie. Brain candy. Zoning out. The upside of only one tv station is that I've read more this month than all last semester, but sometiemes I just want to tune out with a chick flick or something.

The bottom line is that there are ups and downs, good and bad, lessons taught and lessons learned, mistakes and room for improvement. Four weeks down, and six to go.