Saturday, August 30, 2008

Small Grasping Fingers and Pig Noises

Yesterday, we had our final in Kiswahili. I was merrily translating sentences into future tense and deciding the correct usage of Amba- (roughly translates as who, whom, that or which), when i heard it - the unmistakable screech on small primates. We have monkeys all over campus. They dig in the rubbish bins, try to steal your lunch and laundry and screech at all hours of the waking dawn. During our exam, they little critters were having monkey Olympics in the tree just outside of the window. The windows here aren't solid panes. They are slats that can be opened to let in more air. Well, some of them are missing small panes like the on e by my desk. More than once I looked in the window sill after hearing a thud to see small black fingers and a little monkey face looking at me. It was slightly unnerving. If he had jumped through the window, he would have been in my lap. The window in the back of the room is missing even more panes. A monkey jumped in and sat at a desk in the back of the room. For the longest time, it sounded like there were pigs oinking outside. I wouldn't be surprised. There is lots of wildlife running around...then I saw the source of the noise. To put is as eloquently as Wendy, my classmate did, "They were doing like they do on the Discovery Channel." It was disgusting.

The campus in on "The Hill." It is a place where nature and urbanization meet. There are plenty of trees around and ample space for a monkey colony among other thins. It amuses me that locals take no notice of the baboon on campus. It's almost like being in the jungle without...I would say long drop toilets, but we have "squatty potties" and those are worse...the jungle without the big predators. Humans are the most dangerous thing besides the cats who try to bit your fingers at dinner if you put your hands under the table. (We have a large ferrel cat population on campus.) There are palm trees and other tropical fauna right next to the Internet cafe. It is completely unexpected. When you go out to eat, you get the choice of sitting outside as long as the monkeys aren't running the show. Otherwise, some of our cafes are as nice as any outdoor eatery in the states.

OK, this has gone on long enough. Stay safe and avoid the Discovery Channel.Trust me on this one.

Sunday, August 24, 2008

What else is there to say?

Just a little food for thought...and a laugh at my expense. This happened awhile ago, but can only now tell this story without becoming too red in the face.
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In Tanzania, we have to hand wash our clothes. Well I was doing this one day in the washroom. I had my music playing, headphones in of course. I'm stading at the sink washing my unmentionalbles and unrealized to me, I'm singing louder than I though. Security came by as I was wringing out my laundy. What do you say to a strange man who sees you washing your underwear and singing loudly..."Jambo!" (that means hello). And so life goes on in Tanzania... :)

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Keep you hands to yourself…

I found my self saying this to one of the kids in the Standard 6 class I work in at the elementary school. She was poking and hitting the girl in front of her in the head. As soon as it came out of my mouth, I realized how ridiculous it sounded. First of all, the majority of these kids in theory should have a decent grasp of English…reality is that is not so. Secondly, these kids have never been taught not to hit. They do what they see everyday. The teachers discipline them for everything from talking to misspelling vocabulary words. We were told in grading their exercise books, “make sure you mark the ones they get wrong so I can punish them later.” That translates into they will get lashes on the back of the hand or the wrist. When the behavior is really bad, it is on the thighs. In Tanzania, by the letter of the law, only the head master is allowed to dispense corporal punishment for serous offenses. The reality I see is that teachers regularly lash or hit their students. I’ve even seen one teacher corralling kids like cattle with a stick at least the size of my ring finger. It is challenging to sit back and watch. As a foreigner I can’t say much. I know that if I ever see the “corralling” action again, it will take a force of nature to keep me from intervening on behalf of the students.

Friday, August 22, 2008

When “please” doesn’t mean “please”

Coming to a foreign country, I’ve tried very hard to not be a typical American. As soon as I learned “Please” and “Thank You” I started using them. Today, I learned the most disturbing thing in Swahili class: the word I have been using to say please, “Tafadhali” does not mean something polite alone. It makes whatever I said previously sound like a command. My heart sank. I have been trying so hard to be kind and respectful and all along I’ve been insulting people. No one mentioned anything about it until today. The proper way to say please is “Tafadhali naomba...” So yes, I’ve been offending people for weeks. My first thought was “Why didn’t someone say something about this?” Instead of being kind, I’ve been bossing people around. I can say that I felt a wave on embarrassment. I know some of the people I speak Swahili with also speak fairly fluent English. My only thought is they didn’t want to discourage me from trying to speak Swahili and assumed that I’d figure it out in time. Now I feel like I have to be extra nice to make up for the fool I’ve been. I know it wasn’t intentional. My errors have been out of ignorance. I can say one thing for sure…when I meet with next year’s students, I plan on mentioning this.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Muzungu on Display

I've been called Muzungu (White Person) from the minute I landed in Tanzania. I'm not a stranger to it. I've kinda excepted it and slightly enjoy saying it to the obvious white tourist. When I'm feeling especially brave, I retort one of two ways...with a laugh of course: "Mafricans!" which basically points out the fact that they are African or "Wapi?" which means "Where?" It generally gets a laugh from all parities involved.

The first time it was strangely fun was the other morning at the market in Survey. I was with my Kiswahili tutor and she stopped to buy some bananas The cutest little girl probably two or three came up to me. I thought she wanted to hold my hand. Kids here do that. Instead she turned it over several times and stroked my skin and stared intently. Then she proceeded to lift up my pant leg to see that my legs were the same color as my hands. She didn't think that I was white all over because I was wearing chocolate brown pants. She kept saying Mzungu, mzungu. It was too cute. I bent down to talk with her. I told her my Swahili name - Dalila - and I became Dalila Mzungu. She wanted to touch my face and hair. Then she ran off to get her friends so they could touch me. All the while my tutor is laughing as well as all of the other adults in the vicinity. I was definitely the curiosity for the day. It was an odd occurrence. I'm just glad my whiteness didn't make her cry. Some of the rural babies I visited didn't know what to think of this white girl .