Part I ~ Busy, why so busy?
If you have been a follower of my thoughts and my blogs then you are aware of the fact that it has been over a month since my last blog update. For a while I thought that I just didn’t have much to say and that my life just consisted of teaching, grading, writing/creating lesson plans, cooking, reading, washing laundry, blah, blah blah and blah. In the past week, however, I have realized that maybe I do have something to write home about!
I have been busy, very busy. When I first learned about JVC as junior at Seattle University on my first trip to Belize City
Then I got to thinking about what it means to be busy and what it means to be totally immersed in a new life. I realized that I really am living and working in Africa . Yes, it took me this long to actually feel like I was fully immersed into my placement. I guess it just did not feel real for a long time. I mean, I spent nine months applying, accepting and preparing to move to Africa only to get here and spend two months in shock over that same fact! I LIVE AND WORK IN AFRICA . Wait, what?! Um, yes. Yes, Shea Patrick Meehan, welcome to a new chapter in your life and welcome to Africa . Man oh man.
All of this really came to a head this last week. After months of slowly getting used to teaching, a new professional space, new coworkers, foods, a language, a community, washing clothes by hand, cooking from scratch, sweating in the sun (and shade and, well, sweating everywhere) and so on, I entered into the last week of Loyola High School’s first quarter of 2011. The end of the quarter was crazy!
Being the only JV at Loyola after a long succession of wonderful volunteers working in pairs (one first year volunteer and one second year volunteer) has had its struggles to say the least. Most years there has been one JV explaining and supporting the new JV through the intricacies or ins and outs of the site. This year, however, I have been alone which has presented problems for both coworkers and myself alike. My fellow teachers and staff members have been confused and caught off guard at my questions about where things are, why we do this, what that is like and so on. In the English Department where I work I have coined the term, “I am ALWAYS the last to know”. The staff thinks it is funny, I think it is frustrating. Whether it is having to work on a Saturday or turning in grades or how to manage a classroom, “I am always the last to know”. For example, I didn’t even know how to organize, mark and then turn in grades until the day before they were due.
Part II ~ Community in Unexpected Circumstances
When I got to work on Monday morning I went to a staff meeting about disciplining and running a class and went about my day. At break time (around 10am) I received the news that one of the students in my homeroom class mom’s died. That explained his absence from school that day but at the same time it brought attention to the fact that I was unaware of any rituals, traditions and thoughts on death in this new culture. So, I found myself with feelings of sadness and hopelessness as an outsider from another country and as a new teacher in this country.
Monday flew by and I finished up Oral English exams (I tested 120 students with a 30 question test). The next few days I finished marking exams and submitting grades and preparing for the parent-teacher conferences.
On Wednesday while trying to restore order in my homeroom class after a morning of rambunctious insanity, the Assistant Dean of Students came into my class room and asked to see one of my students. She took him outside the class and he immediately came back in to tell me that his guardian had come to pick him up and that he was leaving. As soon as he walked away the Assistant dean of Students closed my classroom door and announced that another student’s mother had died.
In shock and confusion, I discussed with my class what we should do and what was expected in the larger Tanzanian community. Here it is common to go directly to the house to sit with the family and it is expected to make monetary donations. Love through presence and support through solidarity is the most important thing it seems.
So, soon after school, I took four students (talkative, crazy boys) and we went together to our classmate’s home. There were about fifty people just sitting around showing strength and love through their simple presence. My student whose family had just experienced this sad, sudden death came to sit with us. My entourage, his classmates, started out very reverent and respectful and then soon there after, as expected, the boys began to cheer their mourning classmate up with jokes, banter and stories. (This being another example of how boys will be boys no matter where they are of what they are doing). After about an hour we said goodnight to our friend and classmate and headed home.
The next day as a class we made cards and took donations for our fellow Loyolaites (Loyola High Schoolers). This particular Thursday school ended about an hour early in preparation for ‘Mid-Term Break’ and several of my students asked to go visit their classmate again so I promised to take them. To my surprise almost half the class came with me to go visit the family.
There I was, walking through the streets of Dar es Salaam
Standing there surrounded by my students and full of awe over the scene before me, I looked around and felt once again immersed into this place. It was a moment that surprised me in the sense that something so sad could make me feel so honored and connected. The ceremony went on with songs and speeches and tears with me standing toward the back with my class, my new community, my new strangely fascinating life here in Tanzania
Hoping to remain an onlooker and respectful participant (as still very new to this place and this way of life), I had hoped to show my respects merely by observing. When it came time to viewing the body, I had hoped to bypass this uncomfortable (personally) part of the gathering. One of my students, however, asked me to walk with her up to see the body because she was too scared to go alone. “But I’m scared too!” I thought. Trying to be strong for her, my class and the student that we were all there for, I decided to go. After passing the body, I saw my student surrounded by loved ones and sitting in a haze of shock and passed on a hug. Walking away I was intercepted by another family member and asked to speak on behalf of Loyola High School
We left soon after and headed back to Loyola.
This was all on Thursday, March 17th. The whole day was a lesson on feeling completely close to the people and lives I have become a part of here and at the same time thinking of home. As you may or may not know, this day is St. Patrick’s Day, one of my favorite days of the year. I look forward to it, dress up on it and try my best to spread a little luck and love of the Irish. I had planned a meal of mashed potatoes and Guinness with my community but I instead found myself speaking at the funeral of one of my student’s mother. Surprisingly comfortable with and even comforted by my place, my purpose and my presence that day has made me realize that while life can change rapidly in a matter of months, I have learned a lesson in adapting to and embracing that which is in front of and important to me. At this time in my life I find myself thinking of and loving my students, my days here, my family and friends at home and the daily discoveries that make me more human, more connected and more me.
Part III ~ Meeting the Parents
Awkward, tiring and intense. I spent two days, ten hours each day, struggling through and barely managing to discuss my students with their parents. A list of essential words and phrases in Kiswahili got me through the longs days. Most meetings consisted of me attempting to speak with the parents as the students sat in the middle, heads down, scared of what I would say and hoping for a quick and painless scolding from their parent or parents. Some parents took the meeting times to thank me for my work while others used the time to show their authority and strength in their families by yelling at their student. Some call it ‘tough love’, I call it awkward (for me) and boarder line verbal abuse (for students). After hours and hours of talking at parents and parents talking at students, I tried to remain genuine and clear with parents as mush as I could. Unfortunately, instead of feeling productive or supportive at the end of each day, I felt helpless and empathetic for my students as my lack of Kiswahili and inexperience in the Tanzanian school system made it nearly impossible to foster fruitful conversations. I did realize, however, that I was able to show parents, though briefly, how much I love their students, enjoy their desires to learn and my own desire to support them in and out of the classroom.
There is a light at the end of the tunnel! Finishing parent-teacher conferences means a nine day break and some much needed time for rest and relaxation. Two days into my break, however, I am already planning a little adventure. Tomorrow, Wednesday the 24th, I am boarding an eight hour long bus ride and heading north. North to Moshi , Tanzania Mt. Kilimanjaro
