The Dance

In memory of John Boniphace Mwakilasa

7 December 1984 –8 December 2009

Professor Cindy Johnson

I am a professor of biology. Teaching is my calling, my passion and love. It is through teaching that I am freest to express my true self. I can play. Teaching is a playful dance staged in the wonders of biology. As the student learns the steps, the dance becomes a thing of beauty. Teacher and student, both rise to new ideas, inspirations and questions. The probing is deep and the awe is profound. The dance contains elements of a spiritual quest for a deep connection to one another and to the study of life.

The dance transcends culture, language and politics. We are all dancers, swirling around in a kaleidoscope of images, colors and discovery. I am dancing in Tanzania, teaching at the College of African Wildlife Management in Mweka as a Fulbright Scholar. My students are a mix of tribal heritages, Chagga, Maasai and Meru; all are African. I am American. They take me in with my broken Kiswahili. Few can withstand the temptation of the dance and soon they are swirling enthusiastically.

In so many ways these students are a world apart from my students in the United States. Few own computers or other electronic gadgets. Almost none have earplugs and iPods dangling about. Few have pierced body parts or tattoos. Most are better dressed than American professors; ties, dress pants and skirts are the norm here. The thought of showing up in pajamas or sweat pants is unfathomable. They are courteous and frequently offer to carry my class materials to and from class. There are no textbooks and they share a few precious library books. Few have traveled outside Tanzania.

Yet, at the same time they are like students anywhere. Some are curious and motivated; others go through the motions only because it is required. An embarrassed student gropes to find the errant ringing cell phone as others look on with annoyance. They whisper to their friends, secrets that professors don’t and shouldn’t know. They linger to talk biology, ask questions or teach an impromptu lesson in Kiswahili. A question after class gathers them like moths to a light.

Like students around the world, they laugh hard and dance hard. They hang out with friends, teasing one another. They groan when assignments are long and hard. They cringe or seek high 5’s with assessment results. They struggle with concepts and rejoice when it all comes together. The excitement of discovery and new ideas motivates them and the sheer drudgery of learning discourages them. They beam with the smallest bit of attention.

I am blessed. Over the years of teaching I have come to understand my calling. Though plants are my passion, it is education and working with young adults that is my calling. I am privileged to work with the best and brightest of our youth as well as the confused and conflicted. Perhaps it is the eternal optimist in me that relishes this work with young people. They are indeed full of hope, promise and energy. It is they who see the way where no one else has succeeded. It is they who abandon reason and follow instinct. It is they who are fresh and not jaded by life. It is they who step forward laughing with a mischievous spark. It is they who embrace life, full of promise and adventure.

Yesterday one of our students died in a car accident. I knew him only for a short while, but my heart grieves for his family and friends. As an ‘elder’ I have experienced the death of friends and family; it never gets easier. The loss of this young man perched on the edge of the world ready to launch hits me especially hard. As a biologist I know that juvenile mortality is a fact of life, but as a dancer I grieve the loss of the promise, the vitality, the very essence and joy of life.

I cannot say anything about his life or whether it was lived fully. I know nothing about his family. I know nothing about his dreams. But, I do know that this young man was hopeful, expectant of life and full of promise. Seeking answers we pose questions. Why? What are the lessons here? What have we learned? Time and community will help us process this loss, but each of us must seek meaning independently. For me, I am reminded that the promise and joy of life doesn’t belong solely to young people. We must carry it throughout our lives. To do otherwise is to denigrate those who didn’t have the opportunity.

I can think of no other dance I’d rather do. I am a teacher of biology and a student of life and death. I’ve learned many new steps in this dance. It is an eternal celebration of the relationship between teacher and student, mentor and mentee, elder and youth, parent and child; a celebration of life and all that we have to learn about living and dying. To dance is to embrace life, to honor the sacred. Our time is brief, the music is sweet, let us dance.