Pole Pole, Hamna Shida!

"Eh, Mazungu, unakwenda wapi?" (Hey foreign white person, where are you going?) The villagers yelled to me as I passed by. "Nyumbani", I replied while continuing on my way. Nyumbani... home. That is a word I haven't had the opportunity to use in a while, unless reminiscing about the United States. "Home" has up until now referred to one of two places- my hometown of East Brunswick, New Jersey, or Marist College in Poughkeepsie, New York. On this trip, life has been essentially nomadic. My friends and I have gotten used to waking up unaware of in which direction we were facing, confused as to why the tops of our tentes were always soaked, even in the dusty savannah. Klub Afriko, our "hotel" in Arusha has become a safe-haven in the midst of a city filled with prying eyes and ancient toothless women, desperately begging for handouts. That is the life of a tourist in Tanzania, and it became our comfort blanket. No matter what challenges we faced, at the end of the day, we had each other. Last week, we all had to let that blanket go (temporarily, anyway). Ready or not (and in my case not), it was time for homestay. The home I spoke of before, my new home, is Bangata- a village located just outside Arusha, near the slopes of Mount Meru. As with my other two homes, I am not simply talking about 4 walls and a roof- I have become part of a new family. Here, when I say Mama, I don't mean my biological mother- I have a new Tanzanian mother (don't worry, Mom, you'll always be #1). After years of informing my sister Erin (much to her displeasure) that I wanted a brother (I meant in addition to her, but she apparently took it to mean she didn't complete my sibling-ly needs), I now have two. This really means, of course, that I have 3 new mamas, 5 new brothers, 2 new sisters, 10 new cousins, 5 new aunts, 2 new uncles, and a new father. If you want to know how a mother and two brothers turned into all of that, ask me in person if you have an hour or two. I'll be happy to explain. Homestay for a person like me has not been the easiest adjustment. I'm used to doing things for myself, whenever I want. Being so reliant on complete strangers is a totally foreign concept to me. I got lucky though, because unlike some of my friend's families, mine speaks English, so at least (for the most part) a language barrier hasn't been a problem. Despite that, sleeping under a mosquito net, no stove, no oven, being called Dada (Kiswahili for sister), hand washing laundry, and bucket showers are all new to me, and let me tell you, bucket showering is an art. Although it has taken a while to get adjusted, I really like my family. My brothers are great- extremely inviting and fun. They have bother taken a liking to my camera, and we spent much of last weekend taking pictures of friends and family. I taught them back bends and how to make fortune tellers, and they've already taught me so much more than I can recount here. In our spare time, we watch Merlin, the Chronicles of Narnia, and Xena (my friends are all beyond jealous of our DVD player). One night when the power was out, we sat down and read the first chapter of Harry Potter together. They told me that they liked it, but they haven't asked me to read it again, so I'm not so sure. Mama is a truly great chef. I hate eating cooked spinach, but somehow she can make even that delicious. Sometimes I help her cook, but usually just by chopping fruits and vegetables. There is no electricity in the kitchen, so she makes dinner by way of a flashlight. I want her to teach me how to make Tanzanian food, especially chapati and ugali, before I leave so I can introduce them to my family. She promised that we could learn to make cake together this weekend. While in Bangata, I have been taking intensive Kiswahili classes. I'm definitely absorbing it, but I still get really nervous when I try to speak to people. Kiswahili is a very phonetic language, which is nice, but it also puts together letters that English (to my knowledge, anyway) never does (like ng in ng'ombe (cow), or mw as in mwanafunzi (student)), which can make pronunciation difficult. I also have a habit of flipping vowels, which can be VERY bad. I've had some interesting conversations with my mother's 18-year-old... cousin (?), Joel, about American and why we Americans do things the way we do. Tanzanians seem to ask why a lot. On Saturday, I said "it's such a nice day!", and both my brother Erick and our cousin, Richard, demanded to know why. When I justified my statement by saying "because there is not a cloud in the sky", they laughed. On Thursdays we have focus groups with Bangata villagers, and we get the chance to ask them questions, and vice versa. They were shocked to hear that I don't know some of my neighbors at home. Relationships with family and friends are really stressed here, and people are always walking in and out of the house. It is nice to sit down with people and get to know them instead of being constantly absorbed in technology, like at home in the States. That is one of the many things I love about Tanzania. At the same time, being here is also making me appreciate things at home more- things you wouldn't expect. For example, being able to go to a cafe and come out an hour later without worry that they shopkeeper who escorted you there is still waiting for you outside. Assimilation into Tanzanian life is not always "Hamna shida" (no problems, as Mama always says). I absolutely abhor being called mazungu, but aside from that, pole pole (slowly slowly) I am getting more comfortable. I haven't started telling people "mimi si mazunga, mimi ni mtanzania!" (I'm not a mazungu, I'm a Tanzanian!) yet, but I think I might...

Erick, Piu, Me, Eliza, Mama

Erick and Emmanuel

Emmanuel, Mama, and Erick