we go, we do and we go to the next

In the states we are programmed and encouraged to seek spaces, places and experiences that can benefit us or provide us with some sort of an outlet. Maybe we seek an outlet to showcase a specific talent or it is a group of people that open our minds or maybe it is something that guides our heart to some kind of fulfilling experience. Whatever it is or who or where it is, we are on the move.

We travel to a classroom to learn. We go to the office to do our work. The church is for praying. The soccer field is for playing. Our friends are for venting to and our families give us stories to tell. We go to a theater to see movies or shows that provide a brief escape from our daily lives. We plug ourselves into iPods or step into art galleries to embrace something beautiful, expressive and creative. We go on vacations for something new and we seek reunions to remember the past.

We go, we do and we go again. The next space, the next place, the next experience.

When I was at Seattle University, I was always on the move. I was working in three different offices, learning various skills in each and balancing it all with the goal of being well rounded and grounded to the many skills, people and places. I worked in the admissions office to better understand professionalism. I went to the orientation office to work with people concerned about the process of transitioning. Then I would travel to the campus ministry office to plan prayers, to engage in discussions or to put together large scale retreats. Add other clubs, campus events, a social life and… academics and you can see how my college experience was about involvement and the going to and coming from all of the spaces. All of that fired my passions and challenged my evolving sense of self.

I do not think that I am alone in this either nor is it a phenomenon found only at the collegiate level. We are always going somewhere to get something, to see someone or to feel some way. As a child it was soccer practice, fieldtrip permission slips, brownie making for bake sales, safety patrol, play dates and Irish dancing competitions. What’s next? Where to? Are we running late? What time does it end? How much longer until we get there? What is the purpose of this? Did you read the invitation?

It would be silly to say that this train of thought did not follow me here to Tanzania. I jumped into my first year with hopes, agendas and idealistic plans. What did I find? The spaces felt different, the places looked different and the people reacted differently. Waking up in the morning, I was out the door and heading full force into my day of lessons, classroom drama mitigation, coworkers questioning, communities discussing and navigating Tanzania and me, then me and Tanzania. I was going, going quickly, looking left and running right toward that space where I could pour out my energy, invest my love into and strive to find that fit.

Did the planets align? Did my ‘going toward’ or make-it-happen-American-attitude manifest itself in the ways that I had expected it to? Nope. Well, in some ways it did. Hard work, a lot of planning, order and structure was a success in the classroom. On the other hand, fast walking, goal setting and scheduling did not foster many deep relationships. I attribute my love for and connections with my students to be at the heart of this contrast. My methodology was successful in the classroom but not necessarily in my life outside of Loyola.

I have been blessed with some wonderful relationships here in Dar es Salaam. They did not come about through the means that I had expected to make them. So, getting back to my original point, I found that my strongest relationships formed in the spaces between my going to and from. Taking the time to stop, say yes to a conversation, meal, cold soda or seat under the shade of a great palm tree, I was embraced unexpectedly by Tanzania.

On my way to school, stopping to speak to an elder, I gained a friend. Heading home from using the internet and saying yes to eating a meal with an acquaintance, I gained a friend. Going the market and inviting someone I encountered on my walk there to join me, I gained a friend. Sharing meals with neighbors enriched those friendships and diving into conversations in Kiswahili that were too advanced humbled me but then empowered my companions to teach, share more and… mostly, something for them to giggle at.

With ten more months to go, I hope to see the beauty in the spaces in between. A breath of fresh air on my walk to school, a greeting here and a phone call there sheds light onto the little moments of peace and an authentic presence here that make sense. I expect Tanzania will continue to open my mind to these spaces. I hope that this lesson stay with me and I take it home with me. I look to home, the space there and the space between, with appreciation, excitement and anticipation while I keep living into this very different, oddly refreshing way of existence.

I do not know what is in the space between Dar es Salaam and Seattle but I keep going, I will keep doing and then I will do whatever that is, next. 

The transition of a community.

As many of you know, I am here in Tanzania working through the Jesuit Volunteer Corps. One of the many things that makes this program great and one of the top reasons I decided to apply to this specific program is the two-year mixed communities for first years and second years. JVC International is set up in a way that allows part of the community of volunteers to welcome, incorporate and share what they have learned in their first years with a fresh group of new JVs joining midway through the experience. Last December marked a pretty significant transition.

Yes, I hit the one year mark. One down, one to go. That day of accomplishment was not celebrated by cake or fireworks (shocking, I  know) but it was instead focused on the arrival of two, new members to my community, my life here and the vast network of Jesuit Volunteers.

Bethany Killian and Caitlin O’Donnell arrived in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania on December 5^th, 2011. These two wonderful young women have refreshed this space, my reality with new perspectives, excitement and a willingness to join and enrich my life here. While much of my time here has felt unreal and extreme, the work schedules and expectations of JVs in Dar are based on a long tradition of young men and women serving this small section of Dar es Salaam, namely, Mabibo. That said, I fell into a routine and a way of existing that was both beautiful and challenging.

The things, people and situations that challenged me most last year came at me from unexpected places and I expect new challenges to arise in my second year. It is, however, nice looking forward into the months to come and knowing that those things that weighed me down in the past have been liberated in a way, with time. With more time, the effects of living here will become clearer to me, I hope. I still am unsure as to what I am ‘doing’. What does my post-Tanzania life look like?  What will I put on my resume, for example? Life skills include: a little Kiswahili, taking bucket showers successfully, baking chocolate cakes from scratch, creating lesson plans about basic English or St. Ignatius, sitting on 10 hour bus rides and the ever useful skill of sweating profusely.

I guess the answer lies in the wait. I will wait to see where this second year, this second chance takes me. I will wait to see my family, my friends, my dog and cheap Chinese food. I will wait to understand my place here in Tanzania. Heck, I will wait to see where I truly fit in America. I will wait for employment in the States next year. I will wait to see what this puzzling life I have constructed for myself will look like in one week, one month and especially in one year!

Until then, I will be here in the small section of Dar es Salaam with my new community living into the newness that is this second year.

Think. Fikiri. Hope. Tumaini. Question. Uliza. Wait. Subiri.

I am days away from the one year mark.

I think. I hope. I question. I wait.

Thoughts and reflections from the past year flood my mind. Thoughts of disappointment, struggle, fear, shock and worry overwhelm me. Have I accomplished what I came here for? What have I accomplished and what did I even want to gain from all of this? Am I so blinded by my American desire to gain, achieve and grow that I am missing the day to day successes that confront, challenge and change me for the good?

It is true that my students LOVE me and their English is improving daily. I have friends here. I laugh everyday. I am still fascinated by my Tanzanian host culture. I am learning a new language, seeing a completely different side of the world and getting to know more about myself.

I still find that everyday I hear that small inner voice inviting me home, home stateside.

I think about the people, places and comforts of home constantly. I think about grabbing a beer with my brother and sending my sister a silly text message whenever I want. I think about brisk fall weather and swaying evergreen trees. I think about the holidays up ahead and a world that feels for far away from my current reality.

I think about joys in the waiting. I wait to discover new joys. I wait to receive new joys. I wait to construct new joys.

I think about my new JV community saying goodbye to their families and preparing to join me here. I think about another Christmas away from home. I think about the family dog, Coco. I think about family, their ups and downs, struggles and triumphs. I think about communication, cross-culturally, cross-continentally, criss-crossed and continuously interesting.

I think about constantly learning and the new lessons that a second year has to teach me.

I think, maybe too much, about the future and the evolving sense of home that awaits me in one year from now.

Then I think about the fact that I am here. I remain here while my heart balances gently between a home of raincoats and coffee cups and this space of unending thoughts, hopes, questions, waiting and an ever so slightly, changing Shea Patrick Meehan.

Think. Fikiri. Hope. Tumaini. Question. Uliza. Wait. Subiri.

My life here in NUMBERS

1          times during the week when I use internet.

11        number of monkeys I have seen.

1          number of camels I have seen.

1          number of times, per week, that I eat fish. Every Friday night at dinner with the Jesuits.

6          number of months it took me to realize that the mystery meat served on Tuesdays at school lunch is in fact liver.

4          number of times I have eaten whole boxes on Mac & Cheese sent from home… all by myself.

0          number of times I have driven a car in the past year. 

25        approximate number of cards I have received from my Aunt June and Uncle Tom.

2          number of poisonous spiders (the size of my hand) that I have killed. Number of those I have seen… countless.

3          number of jelly fish stings I have gotten while swimming in the Indian Ocean.

2          number of motor cycles I have been on.

4          times in the past year that I have watched the movie “Love Actually”.

4          number of seasons of Heroes (the television series) I have watched in TZA.

4          number of seasons of Brothers and Sisters (another television series) I have watched in TZA.

4          times during the year when I take de-worming medicine.

4          times during the year when I am supposed to re-apply mosquito repellant to my bug net.

1          number of times I have had malaria.

2          number of times I have had to give stool samples. 

4          number of hospitals I have visited.

6          number of days I have worn contact lenses.

1          days of the week that I shave my beard, Monday mornings.

22        approximate number of pounds I have lost in one year.

2          number of belts that I own which have saved my life this year.

9          number of months since I last cut my hair.

3          number of average of times during the day when a student or stranger touches my hair.

3          number of times I have been to Moshi, Tanzania.

2          number of times I have been to Dodoma, Tanzania.

1          number of times I have been to each of the following places around Tanzania: Zanzibar, Tanga, Lushoto, Sanya Juu.

5          approximate number of visitors coming to Tanzania in the next year.

3          number of books I am in the middle of reading.

2-3       number of scoops of instant coffee I add to a frozen water bottle that I consume each morning. Iced coffee is wonderful.

5          number of minutes it takes me to walk to work.

1,320   number of students at Loyola High School, dare s Salaam.

153      number of students I teach.

153      number of students who constantly remind and redefine my ideas of patience, determination and love.

39        number of students that I am the homeroom teacher of.

45        number of students in Arts & Design Club of which I am the club patron.  

4          number of days I have spent in parent-teacher conferences.

1          number of staff meetings we have each week.

8          number of Jesuits who work at Loyola.

60        approximate number of teachers at Loyola.

7          number of older women who work at Loyola who have crushes on me.

2          number of those women who are nuns.

2          number of school-wide, outdoor assemblies we have each week.

3          number of students who have promised to come home with me next year.

12        number of students who performed songs, dances or poems in our last class together. Celine Dion, Justin Bieber and Lil’ Wayne never sounded better.

4          number of co-workers that I can call my friends.

6          number of students who have requested to be my friend on facebook.

0          number of students I have accepted to be my friend on facebook.

10        (in the AM) time of the day when I have my favorite meal: Tea Break. Tea with milk and doughnuts.

26        number of lessons per week I taught last term.

12        number of English Writing classes per week.

6          number of Oral English classes per week. 

6          number of Values classes per week. 

2          number of Catholic Religion classes per week.

3          number of people in my current community/house.

9          number of Jesuit Volunteers currently serving in Tanzania.

4          number of people who will be in my community/house.

3          age of the person I last celebrated a birthday with.

3          number of guests who came over to celebrate my birthday last October.

300      amount in Tanzanian shillings it costs to take a bus into town.

9          number of Maasai shukas I own.

2          number of articles of traditional-ish clothing Muslim men wear that I own.

980      number of songs on my iPod.

76        number of Christmas songs I have in my iTunes account.

5          number of times I have gone out for dancing.

3          number of memory cards full of pictures I have taken.

6          number of shirts I have made out of CRAZY Tanzanian fabrics.

45        number of pairs of socks I brought to a humid, tropical country.

20        number of pairs of socks I have yet to use.

3          number of hours on average it takes to wash three weeks worth of my dirty clothes by hand.

2          number of hours on average it takes for the sun to dry my hand washed clothes.

2          approximate number of gallons of water an average bucket shower requires.

4          approximate number of hours it takes to collect, boil, cool and then filter drinking water.

3          approximate number of hours it takes to sort rice and beans for rocks, sticks or insects, to cook and then prepare for a meal.

14        number of bus rides lasting more than 8 hours I have taken this year.

105      number of minutes an average Catholic mass runs.

4          number of guests we had over for Thanksgiving.

7          number of dishes served at our Thanksgiving this year.

2          number of new tattoos I want to get when I return home. Sorry Mom/Dad.

7          days of the week that I think about something relating to Disney movies or parks.

2-4       number of meals I prepare from scratch per week.

5          number of days it usually takes three of us to finish a jar on peanut butter.

3          number of times I have eaten Ethiopian food this year.

2          number of times I have eaten pizza this year.

1          number of cheese burgers I have had this year.

1          number of times I have carried a goat into a wedding.

1          number of times per week that I eat French fries for dinner.

358      number of days I have lived in Tanzania.

384      number of days I have left in Tanzania.

A Ride of a Lifetime?

You may have running water and dependable electricity but you do NOT get random days off in the middle of the work week for Muslim holidays. Today is a Wednesday and I am sitting at home cooking rice and beans and enjoying a wonderfully relaxing day off.

Life in Dar es Salaam is moving along in what feels like slow motion on the daily but when I look at the calendar I realize that my time here is flying by! Sometimes I think that being at home with Iced Americanos and all of the cheese that I want would be great. Things here just do not come easily and while I appreciate that haunting realization that ‘I am probably becoming stronger and a more well-rounded as an individual’ I still yearn for many of the comforts back at home in the States. I am not saying that things, foods and comforts of America are the true source of happiness, mine or others, but I miss certain things that I took for granted.

Prime example: Transportation

I miss the freedom of getting into a car and going somewhere on a whim. Leaving the one-mile radius of my home is an all day adventure by bus usually involving a goal of buying an item for our house, a trip to the post office to send a letter or the occasional trip to visit students, beaches or a new part of the city. Buses are crowded. Buses are crazy. Buses are called Dala dalas. Buses drive on sidewalks. Buses don’t follow stop lights. Busses ARE urban Tanzania and very much so a part of my reality here in Dar!

Buses are recycled school buses shipped over from China. The busses were meant to carry very small children to school. (It is common to find painted walls depicting playgrounds, cartoon animals and the like on the insides of these moving mad houses). Each bus has about 25 seats (usually bolted to the floor) but the average trip into town packs close to double the capacity. These human sardine cans of wheels serve as the main form of transportation for the inhabitants of Dar.

One learned and observed realization of this place has showed me that Tanzanians pride themselves as being a peaceful country founded on the ideas of harmony and unity. Interestingly, however, if you choose to board a dala dala during rush hour, prepare yourself to experience the unexpected! Old women being elbowed, children being stepped on and drivers stepping on the gas while patrons are only halfway up the steps and onto the bus! There seems to be no mercy on these buses.

Oh, and did I mention that people pay to ride these buses!

So, with my knees jammed up against the half-bolted seat in front of me, it is the norm to share that bench with one or two others. There is almost always a small child within arms reach (or resting on my own lap) staring at or crying on account of my presence. (Mind you that child is crying because my skin is the oddest/scariest thing he or she has ever seen). All of that just to buy sponges to wash dishes or to send a letter.

To add to the fun, children are not the only ones staring. It is extremely rare to see a white person, mazungu, riding a dala dala. So, not only am I holding a strange child who is crying at the sight of me but I am sweating in a seat made for a tiny Chinese child while dozens of Tanzanians look at me like: ‘wow, he must be lost’. On a recent trip back form the beach I even had to ask a group of women to stop pulling on my hair… At first I thought that it was the wind blowing my luscious locks but when the brushing feeling on the back of my head shifted from stroking to yanking… I knew that something was up. I turned around to see a woman chatting it up on her cell phone and confused as to why I was upset about her pulling on my hair. I told her to stop, immaturely reached out and touched her hair and turned back around leaving her confused and shocked by my own reaction to the situation. (Yes, I pulled her hair. Not my most shinning moment but I had to show her how awkward the whole thing was and… that was the first thing that came to mind!)

Best ways to find humor in the situation include:

1. Making faces at children.
2. Staring back at the Tanzanians who think I am lost and then greeting then in Kiswahili.
3. Joking with old people. (I find that this is a cross-cultural trend that old people just like to talk and have young people listen to them).
4. If the children do not respond to jokes or faces, I find that pretending to cry myself usually confuses them so much that they stop crying.
5. Looking out the window. This is my standby. I never fail to see someone or something interesting, entertaining and unexpected walking the streets of Dar.

Anyway, back to my original thought: that ability to go anywhere, whenever I want is seemingly impossible. Mobility in this life is limited in terms of experiencing other areas, realities and sites outside of my immediate neighborhood without hassle! At the same time, I am blessed by the people of this neighborhood. I am energized by the mamas cooking on their doorsteps, the children playing soccer against our front gate and seeing the shift of people as they stop staring plainly at me as an outsider and start seeing me as a part of this small, bustling part of Dar es Salaam.

Freedom Criers

Last night I watched the movie “Freedom Writes” with Hilary Swank. About halfway through the movie I found myself crying… almost uncontrollably. Now, I am not really known as being a ‘movie-crier’. In fact, that was only my second time ever crying during a movie. Was this my first time seeing this particular movie? No. Is Longbeach, CA during the LA Riots similar to Mabibo, Dar es Salaam? No, not really. Do Hilary Swank’s character and I really have that much in common? Nope. Then I am still left with the question of why was I crying and why am I now feeling inspired to write about it!

Teaching is such an emotional experience. Each and every day I try to give something new and somewhat helpful to my students in terms of lessons, conversations and extracurricular activities. Some days, however, I wonder if the language skills, writing techniques and grammatical exercises are my real purpose here or my true gift to my students. Yes, the lessons are tiring and the tasks that I am expected to perform are sometimes obnoxious but the times in my day that keep inspiring and challenging me to do better are part of a bigger picture.

I have been the teacher to seek stolen rulers. I have been the teacher to dry tears when exams are failed. I am the teacher at parent’s funerals. I am the teacher who gives high fives and not slaps of the ruler to the back of the hand, the arm, the back, the legs. I am the teacher encouraging art projects. I am the teacher making birthday cards. I am myself and I am the odd teacher out.

Education here, in my views, weights heavy in punishment and light on encouragement. Hearing that the majority of my students will not graduate from the high school that admitted them and feeling that I am the biggest advocate for these young individuals is daunting, even depressing. I am lucky to go to work everyday and laugh, smile, learn with and love my kids. However, what is really enough and is it possible to do more?

Balloon Balog

I knew that these two years would be eye opening and formative, however, over the past seven months the lessons have been like a non-stop water balloon fight… YES, a seven month water balloon fight.

JCV Dar es Salaam: an epic battle of fun, craziness and bursting thrills (on the hottest day of summer).

I am not saying that living here is a battle of us versus them. There are no real sides of this adventure. Sure there are different angles, views and lenses that we look through but this experience is much more like a free for all! New ideas, understandings and people are constantly throwing themselves at me, rushing onto my radar and thrusting some new lesson into my heart.

Every time I am hit with a new altering understanding, I barely have time to wipe the water and bits of balloon and I can see a huge, ready to burst orb of wisdom hurdling at me! The ‘I thinking I’m an introvert’-balloon. The challenges of living in community balloon. The Kiswahili-balloon. The family back at home balloon. The missing things, food and people-balloons. The cooking fun new meals-balloon. The hetero normative balloon. The my kids drive me crazy and I adore them at the same time balloon. The co-worker-balloon. TANZANIA-balloon.

Hearing the stories of students becoming orphaned, experiencing a failing healthcare system, riding on overcrowded, unsafe city buses, missing home and seeing friends struggle to find employment are just some of those stinging hits that make the balloon fight overwhelming and daunting. Then there are the balloons that uplift and inspire such goodness. Weekends spent roaming through the city with Cat (my community mate), students singing covers of popular American songs during Oral English classes, visits at home from my students, limited but engaging conversations in Kiswahili and invitations to share meals with Tanzanians are those huge hits that soak you to the bone and inspire a laugh attack so deep from within that your whole body becomes overwhelmed with love and giddiness at the same time!

Each balloon can good and bad, wet and awkward, expected but surprising none the less and such an awe inspiring reminder of how dynamic my time here is. This Tanzanian water balloon fight ends in about 16 months and I am so torn between the thrill of it all and the desire to catch my breath that I find myself lost. Lost in a chaotic summer-time brawl!

While I may be lost in my thoughts and reactions toward Tanzania at this point, I am slowly finding my way and beginning to navigate through this water balloon blast of an experience. Who knows what will happen to me in the months to come or even I will learn tomorrow BUT I am standing at the ready! Bring it on Tanzania.