Five Stars

Some of the most surprising differences in life here versus in the States are from the more common things that you normally don’t think about.  One example would be movies.  Acquiring and watching movies in Tanzania is quite different than in the States. 

Movies can be bought in small electronic shops or just off the street.  Unlike in the States, where movies come in fancy plastic cases, DVDs here come in plastic sleeves inside a flat folder of thick paper.  And unlike in the States, movies here are sold in bunches.  When you buy a DVD you get anywhere from ten to thirty movies.  What I find most surprising is that they somehow fit twenty-odd movies on one DVD.  The grouping of the movies has little reason to it.  They could claim to be grouped by comedies, action or other criterion but in actuality tend to be mixed.  A DVD of comedy movies might contain ten comedies, two dramas and an action movie. Once you have made your selection, you don’t have to worry about breaking the bank to pay for the movies.  Buying one DVD with perhaps twenty movies costs only about $2.30.  Yes, with two dollars and thirty cents you can buy more than twenty movies.  How is this possible, you ask?  Let me illuminate…

Think back to the last movie you watched.  What was the first thing that came up on the screen?  Piracy warnings.  What was the last thing?  Credits.  Both of these things are removed from the movies here.  All of the movies are clearly pirated and many appear to have been recorded in a movie theater as you can hear the audience’s laughter in the background.  I can now understand why writers, producers and other are so concerned about the copyrights of their films. 

Though the majority of films are of good quality, some of them are less adequate.  As I said previously, some have been recorded and the sound tracks have external noises in them.  Many of the films are accompanied with subtitles, though not always accurate ones.  For example, the subtitles in the Disney children’s film Up contain quite a few swear words that are definitely not in the movie.  Other movies have subtitles that convey the same meaning as what is said but in very different words.  One movie I watched was originally in English but had been dubbed in some East European language and had subtitles that were terribly confusing and clearly had little to do with what was happening on screen.  Despite these viewing difficulties, the overall watching experience has been positive.

Ingenuity

If you were to ask someone of the street what words they would use to describe Americans, chances are the word ‘ingenious’ would be among the resulting list.  From founding fathers like Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson to Thomas Edison and Bill Gates, we believe we hold a strong lineage of ingenious minds.  But I believe this is not due to an inherent ‘American nature’ but results from chance.  The real inventors are those in developing nations.

Inspired by the local atmosphere, we have done some of our own improvising.  When you can’t rely on a Target or Wal-mart to provide little necessities, you have to find other ways of making due.  We’ve created candle holders and a rolling pin out of old bottles,  a Tanzania version of Monopoly out of old cereal boxes and bottle caps, and house decorations of seed pods found in our backyard.  The cupboard in our hallway has been dedicated to raw materials and all scraps are deposited there until they are needed.

Ingenuity springs from making due with what you have.  In third world countries, resources are limited, creating an ideal playground for an ingenious mind. Here, children create play toys from discarded water jugs and old bicycle rims, women make handicrafts out of plant materials and men rig bicycles with grindstones to sharpen blades.  The creativity exhibited by the children in developing countries is precisely what the world needs when trying to tackle the problems like energy shortage and climate change. 

Unfortunately, the education to improve this creativity is not what it should be.  If you were born in Tanzania, you may not have had the opportunity to attend school as is granted in the States.  Success lies in opportunity.  These children have been given the priming for creativity and ingenuity but they lack education.  If given the education and opportunities, the children of developing nations could easily become the world leaders, inventors and scientists that will drive our world forward in the years to come. 

The Ascent

I have climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro.  I did it.  Well, I didn’t climb to the top, but I’ve climbed a little.  The college at Mweka is just a few kilometers downhill from the park gate.  We’ve walked up to the gate a few times just for the fun of it.

Setting off under marshmallow clouds, we turn left onto the paved road which turns to gravel meters past the college.  The village of Mweka lies just uphill from the college and consists of a few shops and a scattering of houses.  The shops are all small, but packed with items.  As you walk along Main Street, you can see a pharmacy, tailors at antique Singer sewing machines, and the butcher shop (a small white tiled building with carcasses hanging from hooks in the ceiling). The areas between houses are filled with banana plants and maize. 

We follow the rocky volcanic road as it winds up the mountain, past two primary schools and through a second village.  This village has many restaurant/bars filled with more white plastic chairs than the village probably has people.  These ‘bars’ that line either side of the road, are short, open structures with a barred counter in the back.  White and red plastic chairs crowd around wobbly plastic tables on the packed dirt floor. As you pass through the town, old men offer a local brew from large, brightly coloured plastic cups. 

As we continue on the road inclines sharply but we are rewarded at the top of the rise with spectacular views of golden plains and blue mountains under pillow clouds.  Up here, the view puts into perspective how far up the mountain we actually are.  As we reach the gate, banana trees give way to forest and tree ferns. 

All along the way, children run out to greet us with “Jambo!” or “Good morning” (even when it is the afternoon).  Some are quieter and shadow us a few paces back.  Often, they ask for money or chocolate, which of course, everyone carries when they go on a walk, right?  Older folk are amused by our limited knowledge of Swahili greetings.  They enthusiastically greet us and laugh good naturedly when we get the response wrong. 

Dar es Salaam

Last week, business called us to Dar es Salaam.  Dar es Salaam is a big port city on the Indian Ocean and though it isn’t the capital of Tanzania, it is home to many government buildings and embassies.  While in Dar es Salaam we needed to get a research permit approved, pick up 90 kilos of books from the US embassy as well as get a security briefing at the embassy. 

Rising at an insanely early hour, we set off for the airport to take a plane to Dar es Salaam.  Morning blue clouds hung from stars on a scarlet dyed sunrise as we took off, leaving Africa’s highest mountain behind us. 

Dar es Salaam can be described in one word: hot.  Luckily, we found an air conditioned hotel where we could retreat from the oppressive heat and humidity.  During the first day we got the research permit approved, visited a cultural museum and went to a main shopping district. 

The second day which included a visit to the US embassy was more interesting.  The embassy was bombed eleven years ago and has been rebuilt since with increased security that seems a bit excessive. To get into the embassy, you first pass through a building with constantly locked doors that are opened by a security guard in a secure room.  Inside you are required to deposit all bags, cell phones and other electronics, show identification, get scanned and proceed though another permanently locked door. 

On the inside, the embassy is quite nice.  Walking in, you really feel like you have left Tanzania.  Ergonomically designed office chairs fill conference rooms and modern art hangs on the walls.  In Tanzania, offices are generally sparse, white walled rooms, with only perhaps a picture of a current or past president hung high up, flush with the ceiling. Walking through corridors with fake house plants and artsy black and white photographs created an illusion that the security building leading into the embassy was actually a portal to a location in Washington D.C.

Once settled into comfy office chairs, we sat back for a short security briefing.  Much was less relevant to our situation in Mweka, but it was interesting nonetheless.  Evidently there really are people whose job is to protect information.  It really makes you wonder, what kind of information they have that is so important to protect.  And it is even more interesting to wonder who they are protecting the information from.  At one point during our briefing, the presenter stopped and said, “Oh, no.  I don’t think I can tell you that.  I think it’s classified.”

After the briefing we got official ID badges and we collected our four boxes of books.  Lugging around 200 pounds of text is no easy matter, but we eventually got all of the books back to the hotel.

There isn’t a terribly lot to do in Dar es Salaam so we cut our trip short and returned to the pleasantly cool slopes of Mt. Kilimanjaro a day early. 

A Presidential Visit

Last Thursday, President Kikwete, the president of Tanzania, visited the college.  Having been out of town, we arrive back on campus to find the place decked out in yellow, blue, green and black.  Red carpet was lined up for the president, a stage erected for his speech and students wandered about with little plastic flags stamped with the college emblem. 

Once again, I was able to take photos for the college as I had for graduation and the safari.  But this time I would have to fight for elbow space along with a dozen or so other photographers, cameramen and journalists.  In Tanzania, to take pictures of the president requires a press badge.  So I queued up with the others to exchange my driver’s license as collateral for a large press badge on a bright yellow lanyard.  Feeling official, I wandered off to take pictures of preparation until the president showed.

  As can be expected with diplomats, the president arrived late.  The dispersed students that had waited patiently in the morning under a warm sun came rushing back along with the rest of the population as sirens announcing the president’s arrival could be heard. 

Cameras rolled and shutters snapped as the president emerged from a black SUV.  He greeted everyone with a smile and a wave and shook some hands before disappearing into the main office building for the first part of his college tour.

The president was escorted by a number of police, ‘secret service’ and other security guards.  Though there were more security personnel than might be expected, there was still less than what you would find in the states.  Beforehand, bomb-sniffing dogs investigated the premises and guards diffused across campus.  With the arrival of the president came men wearing short-sleeve suits and ear bud radio communication devices looped over their left ears.  These men hovered around the president, keeping photographers, excited children and other patrons an arm’s length away. 

Students and faculty gave short presentations on various aspects of the college as the president listened with interest.  In the background, the brass band could be heard playing an odd mix of polka, classical, and Christmas music as they entertained a patient crowd waiting for the president to make his speech. 

After the president had listened to the student speeches and planted a tree for the college, he gave a speech of his own which was well received.  As the sun sunk behind the western trees, the president sat for a few pictures before hopping back into his awaiting car which parted the enthusiastically waving crowd.          

 

 

A Winter Solstice in the Summer

Today is the first day of winter at home, and though those seasons don’t apply down here, it is still hard to think that it is mid-December.   The countless inconstancies with the current season have me wondering what time of year it really is.  When you’ve lost your time-markers, time seems to stand still. In fact, I haven’t even registered fall yet.  I missed the state fair for the first time in years, Halloween slipped by without even a tootsie roll, and Thanksgiving was relegated to chicken soup (though it was good).

The days here are as long as ever – the sun always sets at the same time and in the same place.  It’s nice to be able to wake up with the sun and walk home before dark, but it is amazing how much constant-length days distort one’s sense of time. 

It doesn’t help that the landscape is an emerald Minnesota only experiences in the spring.  There are roses outside our front door and flowers are blooming everywhere, though the poinsettias in our front yard are on the decline.  Much to my delight, there are even dandelions blooming in our backyard.

Furthermore, there isn’t a trace of snow anywhere except up on the mountain.  Actually, I’m sitting around in shorts and a t-shirt.  We’ve been here over three months and its pretty much still looks the same (if anything, it’s greener, which just confuses my mind more).  Now we are on the verge of Christmas and I highly doubt that it will be a white one. 

No snow is just the beginning of the lack of holiday decorations.  The only Christmas tree I’ve seen was a four foot plastic tree slung over the shoulder of a sidewalk pedestrian.  There are no inflatable Santa Clauses, window decals, and worst of all, no Christmas lights.  Our festivity has only extended to the paper snowflakes in our living room. 

Though summer in the winter is confusing, I can’t say it isn’t appreciated.  I have no remorse for not having to bundle in so many layers that you are forced to waddle like a penguin, or shovel wet, heavy snow, or loose sensation in your ears and toes trekking to and from class.  Though I can’t go sledding and I miss Christmas lights, I could get used to long, sunny days. 

Send the Ark

Living on a mountain, I never would have though I would need to worry about floods. However, life has a funny way of dealing out the unexpected.

One day, coming back from the Secondary School, I thought, “A nice, refreshing shower will be nice when I get home.” Ten minutes later, hot and sweaty, I arrived home. But upon opening the door, I was welcomed not by a shower, but a bath. The entire entry was flooded with water and the damage continued on to the other rooms. A good inch of water stood in the entryway, hallway, both bedrooms and the bathroom had closer to two inches. From the outside of the house, you could see the water coming out of the bathroom outside wall.

I quickly surveyed the damage. Nothing seemed too bad – a few wet pairs of shoes and a wet laundry basket. I grabbed a broom and began the slow and difficult task of sweeping the water out of the house. The problem with water is its fluidity. When you sweep the water in one direction it has a tendency to fan out and end up where you didn’t want it. You learn to sweep fast enough to keep the water somewhat together but slow enough to be able to beat the water to the end of the hallway where you have to change it’s direction to keep get the water out of the house instead of into the kitchen.

No, it wasn’t the rains that had flooded our house, but our hot water heater. The heater, little more than a rusty tin can, had started to leak after I left in the morning and had nearly flooded the house by the time I had returned home in the afternoon.

Since that incident, we have been forced to take cold showers and keep a bucket of water under the heater to catch the drips. We have been informed that a new heater will be installed soon, but ‘soon’ on a Tanzanian timescale is tantamount to ‘eventually’. At least we will be conserving more water and energy this way.

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.

What’s in a name?

As would be expected, names here are different than ones you might find in the United States.  I’ve compiled a short sampling of some more common and unique names of my students bellow. 

• Philbert
• Wilbard
• Baraka
• Godlove
• Mary
• Restituta
• Amani
• Goodluck
• Norberth
• Heavenlight
• John
• Novatus
• Chrispin
• Lukresia
• Frida
• Innocent
• Peter
• Khalid
• Urbani
• Emmanuel
• Happy
• Boniphace
• Benedict

Though at first, some of the names like Innocent and Goodluck may seem strange to an English-speaker, consider some the fact that many American names have meanings in other languages.  For example, my own name means ‘times’ in Swahili.

Graduation

A few weeks back, the college had its annual graduation ceremony.  Though Mweka College has the familiar schedule of a August-June school year, graduation is in the fall. 

This graduation was very similar to an American one.  The campus was decorated with green, yellow, blue and black, plastic lawn chairs were arranged in neat rows, and parents lined up to take pictures of their graduates.  There were even long speeches (though not all in English), restless children traditional and graduation robes and hats (though the Tanzanian ensemble included a coloured sash corresponding to the diploma type).

Before the ceremony began, women with plastic flower leis lined a sidewalk to sell to friends and family members of the graduates.  The leis were then presented to the graduate, sometimes with a gift, after the graduate had gotten their diploma.    

After the ceremony, more sellers lined up with freshly printed pictures of the graduates for the families to purchase.