An outsider welcomed

Today, a longtime friend of JVs stopped by the house and invited us over to his house. His older sister was getting married and he and his family invited us for the celebration. Our friend is Catholic and comes from a very large Catholic family but his sister was marrying a Muslim man which makes for a controversial yet exciting time for both families. While the city is about half-Christian and half-Muslim, interfaith marriages are not common. Each respective tradition lives side by side one another but does not usually marry into another faith, so this experience was out of the ordinary and wonderful at the same time.

As we walked up to the house and into the celebration we were overwhelmed with love. in upwards of one hundred people were crammed into a small space outside of the bride's parent's home. We were immediately the center of attention as three white people, wearing African-made clothes entered the scene and were funneled into a line for food. as we waited in line, I looked around only to make eye contact with every guest (as they were staring at me). An outsider.

I got my huge place of rice, meat, banana and vegetables and was escorted away from my community mates and over the the 'men's section' of the party. Men and women eat and celebrate in different locations. So, I sat down on a mat under the warm sun and began to eat as a men from both sides of the wedding party looked at me with excitement and confusion. As I looked in the direction of the 'woman's section;, I saw my community mates sandwiched between mothers and babies and grandmas and sisters dancing, eating and chanting in a fit of pride!

As I sat there, eating, I realized how unique this experience was. At that time, the bride's father asked the groom's father to share in a dance, a custom that was both shocking and beautiful at the same time. this wedding had not father daughter dance, no cake or champagne, no classic oldies songs with children and elders sharing in a dance, no white dresses or black tuxes.

Instead, I looked onto a crowd of smiling faces wearing brightly colored clothes, sharing in dances, feeding one another and celebrating the joining of two young people. There was no specific 'faith or religion' present but rather just a party. A party with friends and family. A party to show love, join in love and continue in love. I then realized that no one was staring at me anymore. The scene was not about me. it was about love and in some strange way, some foreign way, some unexpected way, I was welcomed into that love.

The gathering escalated as the bride exited her parent's home wearing a beautiful golden gown, veiled and glowing under the warm sun. She was surrounded by her family, her parent's family. They were crying with her, pulling her and begging her to stay. To stay with them. On the other end of the yard, the new family, her husband's family was chanting, smiling and inviting her to join them. This tug-of-bride when on for about a half hour. Music blaring, tears flowing, smiles flashing. It was emotional, even as an 'outsider'.

The bride finally said goodbye to her family and started on a slow procession to a car that would take the bride and her groom away.

The music was so loud. The colors were so intense. The tears were real. The laughs were genuine. The people were present. The love was apparent. The wedding was there, real, honest and pure.

As the car drove away, the husband's family disbursed and the bride's family remained. As we got ready to leave, the bride's father pointed at me and encouraged me to dance with him. Of course I started dancing. I danced and my community joined. Then the whole family join. The dancing was incredible. The music was catchy and we, the Dares Salaam Community, looked GOOD. Really good.

We stayed for a while, mingled with the extended family, played with kids, shared in a few drinks and shared in the after-party. I felt truly welcomed. We were appreciated. We were a part of the whole celebration. We were no longer 'stared at' but instead 'looked on upon' with acceptance, pride and friendship.

Today was a day of love. It was about sharing in the love between two young people, between two traditions and between many friends.

We, the outsiders, were welcomed in. Welcome, Karibu. Karibu Tanzania. Karibu, upendo. Welcome, love.

Time for love or love IS time?

In reflecting on how I spend time, embrace time and live into the moments of my day, I am realized that my perception of time is changing here in Tanzania.

I have been in Tanzania for two and a half months, the longest I have ever been away form home. Time. 

In thinking about the ways in which I spend my days, it sounds simple. I wake up at 6:30am. I got to school. I teach 4-6 lessons a day. I go home and maybe cook a meal from scratch, do my laundry by hand or go for a jog. I work on a lesson plan or two. Then I go to bed and do the same the next day. Time.

Weekends may include a trip into town, a meal with a neighbor or planning out lessons for school. Then on Sundays, we go to a two hour mass in Kiswahili and the hot African heat. Time.

It sounds simple and it is. It is also draining, overwhelming and daunting at times.

Days, weeks and now months have gone by and I already find myself relying less on schedules, goal oriented tasks and checklists. This is not to say that I do not still have goals or dreams for myself and this experience. In fact, my dreams grow and challenge me in good ways everyday. I dream about knowing Kiswahili, about my student’s success, about life at home, about life changing me here, about seeing God in new places, about establishing a new network of friends, Tanzanian and volunteer alike, about seeing love in a new way, about everything and nothing. I dream about time changing me and encouraging me to grow.

I have also found myself thinking about time and my use of it in relation to others. Time, and thinking of it as ‘mine’ has been a topic of internal discussion over the past week. Saying things like: “a waste of time”, “your use of my class time”, “time is of the essence”, “it is time to focus”, “how long will it take”, has made me realize that I do not respect of give enough credit to time and presence and the experience in front of me.

Time is so much more than a schedule, checklist or string of events that fulfill goals.

Right now, time is all about the process. The time it takes to make tortillas from scratch. The time it takes to listen to a student complaining about another student stealing his or her pen. The time it takes to plan a lesson on how to explain values such as: respect, diligence, relationship and charity to students who know very little English. The time it takes to learn simple Kiswahili sayings. The time it is taking to write this reflection ON time. The times I have wanted to write but have been unable to because of blackouts. The time, the time, the time. Time is such a mysterious construct and part of life!

Can I control any of this time business? Can time be tamed? Is my time being spent worthwhile? What would my life look like if I took an inventory of the time I used or spent doing something new, unexpected or out of my control?

Today I taught a class called Current News. It is one period a week for each of the sections of pre-form one (HDP) that I teach. We basically do mock news broadcasts with stories that change each week. This week’s topics were Sports and Entertainment. The students loved it. I heard stories ranging from Manchester United football (soccer) to the musical genius that is Celine Deon. (Also, several students prepared songs that they sang to the class. They honored the music of boybands, High School Musical, early 90’s hip/hop and other classics). So many students wanted to share that there was a long waiting list of students sitting (impatiently) for the chance to present. With about eight students still to go, the bell rang and class was over. I asked the class if they enjoyed the lesson and with an overwhelming response they yelled: Yeeessss Mr Paaaatttrrriiiiccckkkk. And then a student from the back of class asked if we could stay and do more! It was time for Tea Break (my favorite time of day consisting of tea, coffee and a snack at 10am). Stay during ‘my time’? Miss tea break? Despite the intense internal struggle and love for tea break, I decided to stay and we finished the rest of the presentations. Their smiles and cheers instantly validated my decision. Time well spent. Time that made a difference. Time that meant a lot to me and those students of HDP C.

Later that day, this reflection on time was continued. I received a slip from one of the Jesuits instructing me to go to the post office because a package had arrived. When you receive a package of a certain size or weight (four or more pounds), you must go to customs and collect the package. Now, the office is only open during weekdays until five and it is in the heart of the city center. So, on Friday, I left school early, grabbed my passport, my wallet and a water bottle and then headed into the city. We live in Mabibo, a neighborhood about ten kilometers outside of the downtown area. I hopped on a dalla dalla (city bus) and headed into town. I waited in a few lines, paid the customs fees, claimed my package and then hoped on another bus headed home. All in all, two busses, two long walks and three and a half hours later, I walked into our house and opened a package from my family full of candy, peanut butter, macaroni and cheese and some other treats. My exhausted, excited smiles was that of accomplishment for having made it to and from town and that of receiving a package of love from home. But the time. Thinking about time it took to prepare the package, the month that it took to travel here and the three and a half hours it took me to retrieve it.

Time is about the process as much as it is about the result. 

I am learning this more and more each day. I am learning to be more patient with myself, my students and my new life here. I am learning to appreciate how long that which seems simple really takes to effect or affect us. I am learning to look at time more carefully, to think about time more respectfully and to appreciate time more genuinely.

How are YOU spending or using your time today?

More insight into life here!

Visit my community mate Cat's blog: http://www.catkeating.blogspot.com/

She has pictures and many wonderful things to say!

Learing from a Sister

The other day I saw teaching my students the difference between singular and plural. How can you make this interesting? Answer: a song. What song: “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes”. If you point to one shoulder, singular, two, plural. One knee, two knees. Okay, you get it. To make sure that my students understood the parts of the body, I also gave them the homework assignments of drawing the body and then labeling the different parts. This all sounds pretty easy, interactive and simple yes? Well, things got a little interesting. You see, in my classes there are a few nuns. Yes, sisters. Women of God. Nuns. They are between the ages on 20 and thirty five and act very different from the rest of the students who are as young at twelve.

So we sing. We label. We learn. The I ask if any students have any questions. One sister raises her hand, stands up and asks her question. Standings about eight inches taller, thirty pounds heavier and fifteen years older than the others sitting around her, she has a presence to say the least.

“yes, sister” I ask.

Eyes locked with mine and in all seriousness, she grabs her breasts and says “what is this?”

I freeze. She was right, this was not covered in the song or my lesson.

“Um… your shirt” is all I could manage.

“no” she responds quickly.

I begin to sweat. Fear and awkwardness take over. The rest of the class is laughing.

Silence… silence… sweaty silence…

“your chest, your chest. This is your chest” I say this and immediately turn around and begin to write the word on the board and to compose myself. At this time, she finally removes her hands from the front of her blouse and sits back down.

Saved. Survived. So awkward.

Flash forward a few days:

It is Sunday. Kiswahili mass. I am sitting in between Cat and Gretchen at St. John the Baptist struggling to follow along. By the time the Liturgy of the Eucharist comes around I am exhausted and wishing that the norm was a one hour mass and not a two hour  mass. BUT, I look up at the alter only to see that same sister from my class helping the priest prepare communion. At least I think it is her? Of course she is now in full habit and nun-wear! Yes that is her. Wow. As I walk up to take communion all I can think is: two days prior she was standing in the middle of the classroom touching herself! Sorry, God, I know that I should see the Divine in all things but this is weird. So weird. I take communion from her, shocked, and a little uncomfortable.

Yes. That really happened. From a lesson on the human body to a whole new meaning of taking communion!