Feinstein Care Package!

Thank you to everyone at The Feinstein Institute of Public and Community Service at P.C. for your endless love and support. We are so happy to have shared your spirit of community and intentional living in Amani House in Dar Es Salaam. I'm sure you'll welcome Beth back with loving arms! Thanks for forming us, reading our blogs, sending e-mails and challenging us when that was necessary!

almost one year

I don’t mean for this blog to become a running journal, but I do think that my running has provided a unique lens through which to view this experience. . .

When I first arrived in Dar, I knew that I needed to run to stay physically healthy, emotionally balanced and mentally alert; what I didn’t know was that my comfort level with running would reflect my comfort level in my new home. At first, I ran a few laps around the Loyola campus each evening- enough for the physical, mental, emotional health I was seeking and not much more. I stayed in my comfort zone, which made sense. Everything else I knew and loved had undergone a drastic transformation. I ran for about 20 minutes, stretched, went home and showered. It was enough, but certainly not a challenge; instead, it was a sort of bridge between my two homes, something which remained constant despite the changes happening around and within me. The truth is, I was afraid. Afraid of getting lost, getting tired, not being able to communicate effectively and I just really did not want to wake up at 5:00 a.m. to beat out the harsh sun and ‘hide’ my whiteness in the veil of pre-dawn darkness.

For whatever reason, with each retreat we went on, I felt a little more confident running in a new place. Maybe it was the open space of the retreat’s location, the ocean at the end of the run, or the community of the other JVs running on a similar schedule, but with each retreat, I became a little more comfortable in my skin and sneakers. In August, we (as a whole community) made the commitment to try to train for and run the Dar Half Marathon to take place on December 8th. I had run one half marathon before and knew that I was capable, but was still a little nervous about the logistics. How would I figure out exactly how far I ran each day? How would I map out and time my long run? How would I cross-train? Could I really wake up at 5:00 a.m. 5 days/week? How will I do all of this without an ipod to distract me? But, thankfully, I put my controlling/planning-obsessed self aside(I’ve been getting better at this, by the way) and trusted that with a little bit of effort, a mental commitment to waking up before the sun, the support and encouragement of a community running towards the same goal, and a little grace from God, it would work out.  

I needed a different route, though. I did not like the one we had been using. It didn’t work for me; maybe it was a mental block, maybe there’s some kind of negative subconscious association I had with this one particular route, I have no idea, but whatever the reason, I just couldn’t bring myself to wake up to run this one particularly bleak route. I had let this mental block keep me from running any kind of long distance for a while- I stayed in my comfort zone at Loyola. But then, one day, as if a switch had been flipped, I suddenly realized, I didn’t have to run that route just because it was the one everyone else was using. I can turn right at the main road instead of left. It was as simple as right instead of left. So, the next morning, I did just that, I turned right when I intersected Old Kigogo Road- I passed Loyola, passed the parish, passed the bus stand, passed the homes of neighbors and friends, crossed the river which floods when it rains and just kept running. There was a series of hills and curves, which made it a decidedly more difficult route, but it was also WAY more interesting- challenging, yes, but definitely not boring and bleak. Each night, before I went to bed, I found myself looking forward to waking up before the sun and running up and down the hills, around the curves and through our neighborhood.

Sometimes, it really does just take a change in perspective- a mental commitment, the support of others and the grace of God to take on a new challenge, to see the world in a  new, fresh way. I should mention two developments in the course of this training- 1. my tried and true running watch, a Christmas gift from my brother about 3 years ago, died(a slight bump in the road) 2. Kathleen received a very useful Garmin running watch which mapped your distance, alerted you to a change in pace and probably did a million others things I couldn’t figure out (Thank you, Mr. Kardos). These developments balanced each other out. While I now had seemingly no accurate way to gauge the distance of my run by the time it took me to run to a certain point and back, Kathleen was able to tell me exactly how far each of the landmarks was and even let me borrow it to pace myself and map out a longer route. In my detachment from technology, my needs were provided for. 

This morning, I think I ran about 8 miles. When I got out of bed, I made a mental commitment to running a longer distance here than I have yet. I committed to running a little bit slower than I ideally would like, in order to complete the goal of a longer distance, and then I did just that. As I passed my usual turning point and kept running to a new destination on which I had not yet decided, a piki piki(motorcycle) driver idling at the corner, cheered, “Hongera, unaweza, dada!”(Congratulations, you can/are able, sister!). As I passed some women collecting rain water on my way back, they clapped and yelled, “Hongera, Dada!!”(Congratulations, sister!!) I smiled and made an embarrassingly enthusiastic fist pump in their direction. Just after I passed them, one of my students, on her way to Mass, yelled, “Miss Kathryn!! Miss!” and smiled big enough for me to see it from across the street a few hundred meters away. And best of all, as I was on the last leg of the run and feeling pretty strong going up hill, I passed a group of men chanting and running together across the road who changed their chant to, “Kama mzungu, kama mzungu!”(like the white girl, like the white girl). I turned around, smiled and cheered them on. I was challenged, comfortable, safe, strong and supported. I couldn’t have asked for a better run and I’m already planning a longer route for next Sunday.

December 8th, quite fittingly, is also the day the new volunteers arrive. So, we will wake up that morning, run the half marathon as a community, hopefully have a celebratory drink or two, clean the house and then go to pick up our new community mates. As I enter my second year as a JV in Tanzania, I’m feeling challenged, comfortable, safe, strong and supported. 

two new pictures!

one from the shamba visit in June, the other from a recent basketball tournament!

Balance

I want to begin this blog by saying that I am no longer limiting myself to 45 minutes of internet usage each week. 

Some of you may have already noticed the change in my internet activity and some of you may have been the ones who were affected by this choice. I am sorry if anyone felt personally alienated by this attempt to live more simply and more fully present here- that was not the intent, but perhaps a not so positive, yet admittedly foreseeable, consequence. For many different reasons, I have decided not to continue to limit myself in such definite terms. While I did use that time for the purpose I intended (“In this time, I plan to write more letters and make more intentional attempts to be present in this place and this community. I will spend more time praying for those I love and working on my relationship with God.”), I also realized that there is a sustainable pace which may be more flexible for each week, each day or each month of this two year marathon.

Recently, my cousin sent Haruki Murakami’s What I Talk About When I Talk About Running in a wonderful and generous care package(Thank you, Tricia!!). I have to admit that I have not yet finished it, and therefore hesitate to quote it without knowing the work in its entirety, but I have already connected with his story, his commitment to running and the way running shapes his mindset(or vice versa). As he talks about his weekly mileage, pace and approach, he writes, “ As long as I can run a certain distance, that’s all I care about. Sometimes I run fast when I feel like it, but if I increase the pace I shorten the amount of time I run, the point being to let the exhilaration I feel at the end of each run carry over to the next day. This is the same sort of tack I find necessary when writing a novel. I stop every day right at the point where I feel I can write more. Do that, and the next day’s work goes surprisingly smoothly.” I’ve realized that this is the kind of balance I was seeking out in attempting to limit my internet usage. If I increase my speed each day, I can decrease the distance. I can pace myself each day, week, month, allowing for enough energy, patience and generosity to wake up refreshed and excited for the next day to begin.

As my responsibilities at school increase and diversify and as our community continues to transition, it’s not easy to always ‘stop every day right at the point where I feel I can write, run, work, give, love, teach more.’ It is definitely my tendency to give more to each day than is healthy for my relationships or than allows for a proper amount of sleep. I have noticed, though, that I have found a much better and healthier balance here than I have in the past. Yes, hard work, determination and being conscientious are valuable and admirable qualities, but wearing oneself too thin, becoming irritable and judgmental due to a lack of balance are not attractive or healthy qualities and, unfortunately, they are the ones which appear in me when I can’t find that balance. So, my internet ‘limit’ was an attempt to find that balance to prevent me from becoming the irritable and judgmental Katie which I try to avoid being. But there are other ways of doing this.

This morning, I woke up at 5:15, ran 6 miles in the Dar es Salaam heat at a pace I was happy with, showered, attended a marathon of a Mass(7:00-9:00a.m.) and then continued my day until this point(8:00p.m.). I lived fully and presently and now I am going to stop writing, because I am at the point where I feel like I can write more. Hopefully, this will manifest itself in another blog post in the not too distant future. Happy running! writing! pacing! teaching! living each day to the point you feel like you can live the next with energy, patience and generosity.

picture

Here's a picture of us while were on our recent holiday in Arusha- it was so cool there we look autumnal!

“Walk With Us In Our Search”

“Walk With Us In Our Search”

Help us discover our own riches; don’t judge us poor because we lack what you have.

Help us discover our chains; don’t judge us slaves by the shackles you wear.

Be patient with us as a people; don’t judge us backward simply because we don’t follow your stride.

Be patient with our pace; don’t judge us lazy simply because we can’t follow your tempo.

Be patient with our symbols; don’t judge us ignorant because we can’t read your signs.

Be with us and proclaim the richness of our life which you can share with us.

Be with us and be open to what we can give.

Be with us as a companion who walks with us- neither behind nor in front- in our search for life and ultimately for God.”

-Henri J.M. Nouwen

45 minutes

During our short Mid-Term break, I traveled with my community to Dodoma and Arusha. In both places, we were part of the larger East African Jesuit community. In Dodoma, we stayed with the JV’s and visited their schools and participated in their community night with the Jesuits there. In Arusha, we stayed with the Canossan sisters neighboring the Jesuit Novitiate. We shared our meals with the Novices and we also shared in their community time and Mass. We were all reminded of the beauty of being part of a larger community and network of support which spans different cities, regions and countries. During our time with the novices, we learned more about their lives and their formation process. One of the surprising and inspiring revelations is that they do not have personal phones and their internet usage is limited to 45 minutes per week.

Since, they, too, are away from their families, friends and primary support networks for two years, I found their commitment to simplicity and community personally inspiring. I am, therefore, making a commitment to limit my use of the internet to 45 minutes per week for the next month. In this time, I plan to write more letters and make more intentional attempts to be present in this place and this community. I will spend more time praying for those I love and working on my relationship with God. In yesterday’s Gospel from Luke, we heard:  

“No servant can serve two masters. He will either hate one and love the other, or be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and mammon.” 

As part of my commitment to simple living, I am taking up this challenge to focus more deeply on relationships. “Simplicity is far more rich and complex than merely consuming less; it is, at its core, a path to freedom, a call to put God and relationships before blind desires and material needs. By living simply, we regain our freedom to choose God.” (JVC Covenant) I will write reflectively during this time and share my thoughts and observations with all of you when appropriate. 

Wishing you all peace and freedom to choose God, 

Katie 

1. send package to the U.S.

It’s hard to explain and maybe not even the most important or formative of experiences I’ve had since arriving in Tanzania, but I recently felt humbled and powerless in a way I haven’t before. It happened when I went to carry out a chore which in the U.S. would be routine and mundane, yes, but in no way humbling, noteworthy or exceptionally frustrating. I went to the post office.  I went with two tasks to check off my to-do list for the week: 1. send a birthday package to the U.S. 2. receive a birthday package from a friend. Easy and straightforward, right?

Wrong. 

Now, I’ve been aware of the complications of the postal system for a few months now, but this experience was somewhat different from the others. 

1. send a birthday package to the U.S. 

I came with the envelope packed in a recycled envelope, sealed with recycled tape, featuring a recycled return address label- all very presentable, but also really simple. Way to go, Katie. Well, not exactly. Upon attempting to complete this simple task, the customs officer at the post office insisted that I open the package, buy a new envelope (for 3,500 tsh) and then re-package it all in front of him, because, “There are no secrets here.” My (ugly) gut reaction was: “Seriously? If there are “no secrets here,” where’s the sign formally informing me of this so-called official ‘process’? I’m a teacher. I’m missing school for this. I’m a volunteer, I don’t have the money to buy a new damn envelope. I’ve saved the money to pay for the pathetic contents and the postage. Now I have to buy a new ******* envelope. Really?” Thankfully, I kept this dialogue, mostly, within my own head. 

I quickly realized that this customs official was also the same person who would determine my fate when receiving the generous birthday package from a friend. I complied. I went outside, paid the 3,500 tsh for a new envelope that looked exactly like my recycled one, returned to him like a helpless child and removed the contents of the first envelope, which he examined all too carefully for their simplicity. He questioned why I would send the things I was sending and eventually instructed me how to address the envelope properly. I did everything in my power to suppress my American rage over this flagrant violation of freedom and privacy and the lack of transparency on his part. I smiled, asked if I did it right. Tried to speak as much Swahili as made sense. I played the part.

Next, I had to get the package weighed by a woman at some other location. Then I could come back and retrieve my birthday package. The bait. 

My next mistake: I addressed the package in cursive. Apparently, not proper protocol, despite my vigilant supervision while doing so. This resulted in me painstakingly reading aloud every letter and number in the address of the sender and recipient sometimes, multiple times for each letter. Again- I played the part. Bit my tongue. Smiled. Spoke Swahili. I completed the task, asked for my 200 tsh of change, which seemingly would have been ‘forgotten’ otherwise and returned to the parcel retrieval counter. 

2. Receive a birthday package from a friend

I handed my package slip to the first person at the counter. When I saw the size of the package, I’m pretty sure I let out some of that inner dialogue from before. He wrote a few different numbers on the sheet and asked me to pay 3,500 tsh. I paid him and moved down the counter to my friend in the customs’s section. I waited in anxious anticipation of what “no secrets here” would mean for receiving a package. Now, I should also mention that I had been looking forward to this birthday package for quite a few weeks. My birthday was over a month ago at this point and I knew it was coming for a while, and thought that it might have gotten lost along the way. I was glad it was finally in front of me and I was excited to see what pieces of home it carried in it across continents and time zones.

“No secrets here,” meant that the customs official got to open my birthday present before me, sift through it, assess the value of each item in comparison to what was written on the declaration form and determine whether anything was “dutiable” (a new word for my vocabulary). It turned out that only the body lotion was potentially “dutiable.” I explained that yes, the contents were only really of any value to me- which is why they were sent to me, a simple volunteer/teacher living in Mabibo. Again, feeling like my privacy and freedom were being violated in a strange way, I remained silent. The joy and excitement of opening a special birthday package from home was stripped down to a raw assessment of the monetary value of each item it contained. It was humbling and frustrating and sad in a strange way. 

In the end, he didn’t make me pay for the contents of the package. “Next time, though,” he said, “ be prepared to pay for dutiable items.” And then, I left. Feeling simultaneously victorious and defeated, I left to wait a little bit longer to push my way on to the next daladala headed back to Mabibo. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  * * * * * * * * * 

The next day, I was traveling with some Form 6 Loyola students to a college fair. Many of them had questions about my life at home, my life in Tanzania, my future life, etc. One girl asked me a pretty simple question: Is life easier or harder in the U.S. or Tanzania? With the events of yesterday’s Posta experience in mind, as we sat in traffic, the answer I gave was, “Well, life is certainly different in both places, but daily tasks are just much more burdensome here. Everything requires a little bit more energy, a little bit more patience and a little bit more detachment from plans or schedules. The U.S. isn’t perfect: there’s traffic there, too, but it moves. There are rules you have to follow there, too, but for the most part, you know what they are. You know what is expected of you and you can usually expect that most strangers will comply with those expectations. Daily life here is just more tiring. At least for me.” 

She seemed satisfied with my answer. But I guess another answer is that there are just different ways of communicating information and going about a daily routine. One isn’t necessarily better or worse than another- more or less frustrating, perhaps, but not necessarily better or worse. 

Updates

School:

School has been both busy and life-giving.  This next year at Loyola is going to be a bit of a transitional year for the role of JV’s at the school. For many years, the primary responsibility of JV’s at Loyola has been teaching in the Human Development Program, which focuses on preparing students from both Kiswahili and English-medium primary schools for the rigor of an English-medium secondary school. For a number of different reasons, the board has decided to temporarily disband the program starting this January. So, my role next year as well as the role of future JV’s at Loyola will be changing in pretty significant ways. 

I’ve begun to take on additional roles outside of the classroom recently and I’ve also visited another Jesuit High School- St. Peter Claver, Dodoma- where JV’s are doing a variety of different jobs. Some of the changes or additions to my current responsibilities include coaching the girls’ basketball team, helping form Loyola’s Campus Ministry and looking into ways of adding English support and enrichment to the curriculum. I’ve also been meeting with students in an advisor role through Campus Ministry. We’re looking into ways of developing Campus Ministry into a vital and comprehensive part of the Loyola community. Of course, I am not alone in these steps, there are a number of teachers along with the Campus Minister and the Guidance Counselor involved, but since my teaching responsibilities will be decreasing significantly in January, this opens up a possibility of increasing my involvement in this part of Loyola.

Right now, I am thoroughly enjoying teaching Science and English writing to H.D.P.’s along with Form 1 Catholic Religion. We are approaching a 10 day break between the 3rd and 4th quarters which will be a welcomed respite from marking and lesson-planning. We plan to travel, as a community, to visit the other JV’s in Dodoma and also spend some time with the Jesuit community in Arusha. First, we have to finish signing and handing out report cards along with my second set of parent-teacher conferences.

Community:

Our community is preparing for the next transition in the flow of JV life. In December, Cait and Beth will return home and Kathleen and I will welcome two new volunteers into the Dar community. We have a site visit from our J.V.C. Program Coordinator coming up in a few weeks along with Re-Orientation/Dis-Orientation retreat. 

We’re planning to train for the Uhuru Day Half Marathon in Dar, which will take place in the thick of the oppressive heat of December. More than anything, it will be a nice goal to work towards as a community and I don’t plan on being too focused on my finish time as I do simply finishing. Providence in May has got nothing on Dar in December, so I will continue to extend my mindset of gentleness to this endeavor. 

Speaking of exercise- in addition to our formal basketball practices, I’ve attracted a small and informal group of girls who seem to be interested in learning new exercises and improving their physical fitness, so that has been a joyful addition to Friday afternoons. We started this past Friday with some simple yoga poses, strength training of sorts and a little bit of cardio! I hope that the interest continues as I enjoyed sharing that part of my daily routine with my students.

Spirituality:

I’ve recently begun spiritual direction with Sr. Columba, Loyola’s guidance counselor. So far, this has been beneficial and illuminating as I continue to discern God’s call for me both here in Tanzania and beyond. This practice has been important for noticing God in daily life: in the people, places and experiences which support me and love me from near and far and also in the moments of frustration and depletion.

“Obama left you behind!”

 . . . is a phrase I have been hearing the past two days since Obama returned to the U.S. after his trip to Africa and his visit in Tanzania. 

It is true; he did leave me behind, but I am also proud to say that I was here before him and I will continue to stay and live more closely with Tanzanians than he will ever be able to. His visit has been a conversation starter, a point of debate and yet another thing to draw attention to my ‘otherness’ in this country. From the traffic jams, to the celebrations, to the freshly and uniquely clean streets, Obama’s very brief visit has qualities of both a burden and a blessing to this city. With him and his family, came exorbitant fleets of vehicles, security teams and press. All of this hype got me thinking about the differences between his visit and my own. 

Home visits are at the cornerstone of Tanzanian culture. They exemplify the values placed on familial relationships, hospitality and being present to each other, often without speaking. For these reasons, Kikwete emphasized the importance of Obama’s visit in establishing a working and optimistically mutual (not exploitive) relationship between the two nations during their press conference on Monday. Home visits have also been an integral and life-giving part of my recent vacation. Mine, however, came with less hype, fewer security guards and simultaneously more authenticity. He flew. I walked. He made appearances. I hoped to be anonymous. He was guarded. I was vulnerable. He controlled the conversation. I listened. 

I’m sure Obama enjoyed his visit to Tanzania, Senegal and South Africa, but I wish he was able to experience the hospitality and humility of an honest home visit. I wish he was able to walk across the log acting as a bridge over a stream of water, down the steps made of sand bags, and into the homes of some of the most kind and welcoming people I have ever met. I wish he took his shoes off before entering their homes. I wish he sat in silence due to his own inadequacy in the language. I wish his visit aimed at accompaniment. But all of these wishes made me that much more grateful for my own experiences in this city and country.  And maybe by next week, people will realize that I wasn’t left behind or forgotten, but rather that I chose to stay here, live here and be here. After all, while he was addressing the press and posing for pictures, I was hand-washing the residual dust and dirt out of my mosquito net just a few miles away.

updates

1. I have been on vacation from school since June 7th. During this time, I have had the opportunity to do some traveling locally and to Zanzibar. Overall, vacation has been a great opportunity for getting more comfortable in our neighborhood, the city and the surrounding areas. I have been visiting different students, faculty members and friends and slowly getting more confident speaking Swahili and navigating the public transportation system independently. While Loyola is a wonderful work environment, it can sometimes feel a little sheltered from the rest of our neighborhood with the prominence of spoken English and the walls which keep its well-manicured grounds separate from the outside world. 

2. I traveled to Zanzibar with two of my community mates and one of our colleagues from Loyola and it was a wonderful break from our everyday routines. The beach was beautiful and restorative and Stonetown was historical and full of great places to eat and shop. I even ate octopus and barracuda in Forodhani Park overlooking the Indian Ocean! 

3. I have been going on home visits to the homes of students who receive scholarships from Loyola’s GIA (Grants in Aid) fund. I accompanied Loyola’s guidance counselor and director of the program and another faculty member. The visits were mostly in our neighborhood of Mabibo/Luhanga and the surrounding areas and they were both extremely humbling and inspiring. 

4. I was recently able to return to the shamba/farm I wrote about in the blog about oranges. I helped around the shamba during the day and enjoyed being in the country and living so close to the Earth and its bounty. I ate well and felt renewed and uplifted after spending time with a friend and colleague and her family. I will cherish those moments as I return to the routine of a new school term next week.

5. Obama visited this past Monday and Tuesday and sadly I did not see him, but I got to sit in the traffic jams he caused with the rest of Dar es Salaam. My friends and colleagues were mostly excited and somewhat skeptical about the intentions of his visit. I am glad he was able to spend some time in my new home, but I wish he was able to see more than the President’s home and the newly cleaned, painted and paved streets.

Dear Allison,

(The following is from an e-mail I recently wrote to my cousin, Allison. After writing it, I realized that this part of it might be important to share with others as an insight into this experience.)

Dear Allison,

Thank you for such a thoughtful e-mail . . . I’m guessing from the recent influx of e-mails from family members that Matthew communicated with others that I was missing home quite a bit recently. It’s funny, but this longing for home doesn’t really seem to be coming from a feeling of depletion, exhaustion or something that is lacking here. I’m pretty content with the relationships I’ve been forming with my students, co-workers, neighbors and community mates, but there is definitely something unnatural about being so far away from the people who have been consistently a part of my life for 22 (almost 23) years. Last Sunday and Wednesday, especially, I was acutely aware of the length of time that still lies ahead of me. On the one hand, I have been here for a while; I’m more or less ‘adjusted’ to the extent that is possible in 5 months, or at the very least, I’m in a routine of healthy habits and relationships, but on the other I’m still here for another year and a half and have A LOT to learn. For some reason, I was better at the beginning of all of this at taking things one day at a time and not looking too far down the road. It was probably out of necessity. And it probably is still necessary, or at least very important to maintain that philosophy. So, I guess your picture of me being very tired is not exactly accurate- my life here is much more balanced and even-keeled than it was in college. My commitments are far fewer; I have plenty of time for reflection, exercise, reading, eating healthy, etc., but there is definitely a part of me that thrives on busyness and productivity, so I’m learning how to translate that part of me in a cultural context in which those things are not of high importance.

It sounds counter-intuitive, because I’m living half way around the world from what I have known as home for most of my life, but my world here is drastically smaller than my world at home. It’s kind of paradoxical because my world is simultaneously getting bigger by living in a different culture and experiencing/bearing witness to life in Tanzania, but my life within this culture is much smaller in scope and in someways it feels much less meaningful or important on a day to day basis. My independence is limited (for good/safety-related reasons), my relationships are fewer and very different from friendships at home and my network is much smaller here. I think this is part of what I was lamenting. At home- at any given point in a day I could visit or talk to any number of family members or friends, read a newspaper, go to a movie, museum, park, fitness class, mall, beach, hike, rally, bookstore, coffee shop, restaurant, bar, play, library, lecture, etc. The list could go on ad infinitum, but here, my world is much more limited. I realize that this is part of the solidarity and simple living aspects of this experience, but I guess I just didn’t really anticipate missing the options as much as the people. In some ways this is really important- it’s another way I’m realizing how privileged I am, how choice, and vacation, and entertainment are all privileges which many do not experience, but in other ways it’s just hard to suddenly not have all of those options. 

In yoga, we frequently talk about being in the discomfort of a pose, noticing the places your body is tensing up, the places of strength and flexibility and the places where resistance is strong and stubborn and leaning into those places of resistance when possible, but also just letting your body be as it is without comparing it to another’s or judging yourself too harshly. This is one of those stubborn moments of resistance and even weakness in my thighs and biceps after holding chair pose for the past five months. I need to be more gentle with myself and be more accepting of the moments of weakness, stubbornness and resistance.

I’m learning to do this, but it’s a process. I also could probably seek out more options within this context, be a little bolder, but I guess I also don’t feel like it’s my place to challenge the standard of life. I feel like this is part of what I was called to- to feeling more limited, less powerful, more inadequate, less self-important,  more dependent, more intentional, more reflective and much more uncomfortable. Right now, I’m starting to ease out of this pose and into the next one in the practice, we’ll see where my body and my breath take me and we’ll see which parts of me prove to be more stubborn, less flexible, stronger, or weaker and just accept them and bear witness to the discomfort within and around me.

Love always,

Katie

Oranges

Yesterday was Union Day. Union Day is a Tanzanian holiday commemorating the union of mainland Tanganyika with the island of Zanzibar. It is also a public holiday which means . . . no school! As a student, I did not think the teachers would be as excited for vacation as the students, but on the other side of things now, I realize that they definitely are.  We frequently have responsibilities on Saturdays which require us to come to school for at least a few hours and the rest of the day is usually filled with household chores, and Mass is at either 7:00 or 9:00 on Sunday mornings (and usually two hours long), so when we have an entire day that is free- it is a real treat! 

One of the teachers at Loyola had invited myself and a few other teachers to her home and shamba(small farm) a bit outside the city for the holiday. We didn’t realize quite how far outside the city, or rather how many different dala dalas we’d have to take to finally arrive at our destination, but the afternoon was definitely worth the journey. I don’t know if I’ve fully described our own neighborhood in a blog yet, so I should probably do that as a point of reference. There are many, many beautiful parts of Mabibo, but many of those things are not physical. The area we live in is a crowded combination of concrete, polluted water, mud, dirty air and a variety of smells and sounds. The people are wonderfully kind and the sense of community is palpable, but the aesthetics are raw and harsh. While I do consider myself a ‘city person’, I do also appreciate the opportunity to spend time in nature, whether that’s the beach or the forest. I like a balanced ratio of concrete to earth. Mabibo does not quite provide that balance. So . . . keeping that description in mind, imagine the joy that I experienced yesterday as we journeyed to visit our co-worker and spend the day with her and her family on her 21 acre plot of land chuck full of cashew trees, cows, chickens, turkeys, grass, potatoes, eggplants, hot peppers, maize, pineapple plants, orange, mango and lemon trees, and beautiful vistas all around. Everything we ate at lunch (including the chicken) was from her farm and we enjoyed lunch while listening to an eclectic variety of African and western pop music. We then retired to a table outside under the shade before walking all around the grounds.

The rainy season seems to be coming to an end which has brought a beautiful combination of bearable warmth during the prime of the day and coolness in the afternoon and evening. This change made the tour of her property much more enjoyable as a cool breeze would cut the warmth of the afternoon sun (don’t worry, Mom, I was still wearing SPF 80). I’m pretty confident that I got my recommended daily intake of Vitamin C from the five oranges I ate and picked myself. I learned how cashews grow and why they’re so expensive! I ate things that she picked out of the shamba and handed me and so far I haven’t gotten sick! I smelled fragrant flowers and citrus fruits. We all took pictures and laughed, and shared stories and reminisced about the different places we call home. I really felt like I was part of the Loyola community. When I got back on the squished, rickety, slightly dangerous dala dala and the mama who hopped on while it was still moving with all of her cooking supplies handed me her frying pan to hold, I accepted gladly. I was in a good place with Tanzania. I was refreshed and revitalized without even realizing that I had felt depleted from the monotony of routines and concrete. 

So why are cashews so expensive? It’s quite possible you don’t care. I never really thought too much about this sort of thing either, but it is actually pretty interesting. Well . . . you see, the cashew nut grows from a single apple on the tree, so for each small apple the tree produces, there is just one cashew, which is then collected and roasted before it’s in a consumable state. Yesterday, I got to witness the whole process- we collected, roasted and ate cashews from Madame’s shamba and they were delicious!

This morning I ate one of the oranges I picked yesterday and there was something about the satisfaction of knowing exactly where it had come from that made it one of the most delicious oranges I’ve ever eaten. I guess it could be mind over matter, but it could  also be that this orange actually was more fresh and delicious than ones I ate at home from the supermarket or even the ones I buy from the fruit stand in Mabibo.    

When I was little and summer was coming to an end, I’d start mourning the loss of the beach, being barefoot and the carefree breeziness which shaded those precious months. When this happened, my mom would remind me to keep the memory of whatever that moment was and recall it when we were back in the routine of school, and sports, and plays, and extracurriculars. That’s what vacations are for, after all, for revitalization and renewal so that we can continue to be generous and productive and creative in our work place. That’s why labor unions fought for the weekend and holidays. Happy weekend- do something revitalizing(if only for an hour or two)!

H2O

I think at this point, most people are at least mildly aware of the social justice issues around access to water (if not, it’s likely you have consistent internet access- Google it). For many of us, it’s a given that when we open the faucet or press a button in our kitchen, bathroom, shower, washer machine, dishwasher, toilet, garden hose, etc. water will come forth. It’s that simple.  In most cases, this water is also clean and drinkable. Now, by no means do my community mates and I lack access to water- we are still privileged in this context, but we do have to think much more about our water. We have a water tank in our compound that gets filled with rain water and during dry season by pipes from the city. We then fill buckets from this tank for multiple uses. One bucket stays in the kitchen for dishwashing, cleaning vegetables and boiling and filtering for drinking water. Other buckets get filled for laundry. The dirty water from laundry is then used for flushing the toilets. Other buckets get filled for bathing. Again, remember, we are still privileged in this context. Most of our neighbors do not have a water tank, most of our neighbors have to carry their buckets to communal tanks and pay per bucket of water. So, water is not a given, it is a sacred resource.

Water has a complex identity- it’s necessary, yet commodified; life-giving, yet destructive. Before coming to Tanzania, I intimately witnessed the destructive powers of water as I rummaged through 20 years of summer memories with my brother and dad as we cleaned out our bungalow which had taken on about 3 feet of water in Superstorm Sandy. It was emotionally draining, smelly, and physically exhausting. And we were lucky. We were really lucky. Many others lost everything- all of their memories, not just the summer ones, all of their belongings, not just the beach-themed ones. On Palm Sunday, as we were preparing to leave for retreat, parts of our Luhanga neighborhood and parish experienced the destructive power of water. Rainy season began a few weeks ago and since then we’ve had periods of consistent and heavy rainfall pretty much each day. The river near the parish was quite full already and it couldn’t take any more when the rains poured down for about two hours straight, so it overflowed and flooded the surrounding area. This same area experienced a historically destructive flood last year, thankfully this one was not of the same caliber, but it caused damage nonetheless and as is frequently the case, the poor were the ones most affected. 

Now, I realize this next part might upset some people, I acknowledge that, but I want to challenge you . . . Superstorm Sandy got weeks worth of media coverage. People in Tanzania knew about it; they knew about a storm that was happening thousands of miles away from them in a land in which they could only dream of stepping foot, and yet, this river, right in their backyard floods pretty much every year and destroys homes, schools, businesses and regularly disrupts daily life. Did you know about it? I wouldn’t have. There weren’t any news reporters donned in parkas and galoshes covering the “Great Luhanga Flood” and I’m pretty certain that other small towns and villages throughout the world are regularly affected by these natural disasters which no one hears about. Now, one could argue that this flood was not of the same caliber as Superstorm Sandy, there wasn’t as much at stake, not as much money and resources destroyed, not as much valuable time was lost. In doing so, though, we are neglecting the years of back breaking work that went into accumulating just enough money to secure the small home by the river; we would be placing a value judgment on one person’s life and livelihood over another’s. We are saying, “One person’s time is worth more than another’s. One person’s health and safety is more important than another’s.” Some people might be comfortable with that assessment, but I’m not comfortable with it, it makes my heart break. In being comfortable with that, we’re saying, “Yeah, it’s ok that some people get all of the news coverage, all of the resources, all of the opportunities to create a stable, happy life for their families. They deserve it more than others.” When frequently, not always, but frequently this ‘worthiness’ is determined by an event over which we have absolutely no control- our birth. And the variety of situations into which a baby is born throughout the world varies about as greatly as the possibility of careers I have the opportunity to pursue. I am implicated in this dilemma, we all are, but that implication is cause for hope, not despair, because that means that each one of us is enabled to: 

do something and do it well. It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest. We may never see the end results, but that’s the difference between the master builder and the worker. We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own. (prayer attributed to Archbishop Oscar Romero)

Now, we each just need to figure out the unique way in which we are called to do something.

Just before the flood on Sunday, the congregation of Luhanga Parish raised their palms to be blessed by Holy Water. On Monday evening, I ran to the ocean and instantly felt rejuvenated and closer to home. In September, my nephew was baptized by Holy Water, a symbol of his ‘death to an old life of sin and rebirth in Christ,’ in January my grandfather received his Last Rites and his casket was blessed with Holy Water, a sign of his transition from one life to the next. If we look closely enough- God is in everything, a glass of water, a flood, a birth, a death, a shower, an ocean, a cup of tea.

Updates

A few updates and then reflections to follow:

1. Last Friday marked the end of the first quarter of the school year at Loyola. With the end of the quarter came: final marks, report cards and parent teacher conferences in Swahili (more on that later).

2. Holy Week began on Palm Sunday which our parish celebrated with enthusiasm and a procession into the Church in the rain, through the mud. Last night we had Mass and Adoration for Holy Thursday and today we will go to the parish for Good Friday services, Easter Vigil tomorrow at 8:00 p.m. for many weddings, baptisms, confirmations and first communions . . . it’s known to be even longer, more crowded and definitely hotter than Easter Vigil in the U.S. because of all of these celebrations, but it is also known to be extremely joyous!

3. With the end of the first quarter came an opportunity for rest and relaxation as my community mates and I travelled about an hour away for retreat with the volunteers from Dodoma. This retreat focused on the four values of J.V.C.: social justice, spirituality, simple living and community. Each community planned a session and we held thought-provoking, challenging and affirming conversations on each of those topics, plus a session on current events and life as a woman in Tanzania. The retreat center was run by the Carmelite nuns who were wonderful hostesses. The center was also conveniently located just about a 1 1/2 from the beach which provided great incentive to get up and run each morning as the sun rose and to walk later in the day for sunset. We were also staying about an hour away from Bagamoyo which is a historic town in Tanzania known for its port and its roots in the Eastern slave trade routes. We took a morning to visit the museum and tour Stonetown Bagamoyo.  

4. Overall, things have been going really well for me- I’m growing mentally, emotionally and spiritually each day. It’s strange to not be “working for change” in the same concrete ways I had in college, but right now I’m living in the questions I had been asking for a while as I confront my privilege on a daily basis.

Old Turtle

I want to share the text of a story which has taken on personal significance recently and a short reflection on it. I typed the text of it in this blog, but it is worth adding to your personal or family’s collection whether you have teenagers or toddlers. The watercolor illustrations also complement the text gorgeously and are worth the $18.00 investment. It is called, Old Turtle and the Broken Truth and was given to our JV community by Cat Keating, a recent FJV from our Dar community!

Old Turtle and the Broken Truth

by Douglas Wood, Watercolors by Jon J. Muth

“Once, in a beautiful, faraway land . . . that was, somehow, not so very far . . . a land where every stone was a teacher and every breeze a language, where every lake was a mirror and every tree a ladder to the stars, into this far and lovely land there fell . . . a truth. It streaked down from the stars, trailing a tail as long as the sky. But as it fell, it broke.

One of the pieces blazed off through the night sky, and the other fell to earth in the beautiful land. In the morning, Crow found the fallen piece. It seemed to be a sort of stone, shiny and pleasing to the eye. He picked it up. “This is a lovely truth,” said Crow. “I will keep it.” And he carried it away. But after he had held it for awhile, and examined it closely, Crow said, “This truth does not feel quite right. A part of it is missing. I will look for a whole one.” He flew off and dropped it to the ground.

Other creatures who liked shiny things soon noticed the truth as well-- Fox, Coyote, Raccoon, each picked it up and carried it awhile. But they, too, found that it had rough edges and was difficult to carry, and its sparkle soon lost its appeal. “We do not need this broken truth.” they said. “We will find a whole one.”

Butterfly and Bear also discovered the truth, drawn by its sweetness. But each found that it left a bitter taste after all. “There is something missing in this truth,” they thought. And they left it alone.

After awhile, none of the creatures even noticed the broken truth anymore, and it lay on the ground, forgotten.

Then a human being found it. He was walking slowly, listening to breezes, gazing at beauties above and below and all around him, when he found the broken truth. On it was writing, and the writing said: “You are loved.” The man held it carefully, thinking it was the loveliest thing he had ever seen. He tucked the broken truth into a safe place and kept it. Sometimes he would take it out and admire it. And the truth sparkled just for him, and whispered its message to him alone. And the man thought he had never felt so proud and so happy.

The man took this wonderful truth to his people-- those who lived with him, who spoke as he spoke and dressed as he dressed and whose faces looked like his. And together they cherished their newfound truth and believed in it. They hugged it to themselves and it became their most important possession.

After awhile, the man and his people did not hear the language of the breezes and stones anymore, but heard only their truth. They did see the mirrored beauty in the lakes, or the ladders to the stars, but saw only their sparkling truth. And for them, it was enough. And they called it . . . “The Truth.”

The Truth made the people feel good and proud and strong. But soon they also began to feel fear and even anger toward those who were not like themselves and did not share their truth. The other beings and other people of the lovely land seemed less and less important. And the language of the breezes was hardly ever heard anymore.

Time passed, and other people said, “We must have this Great Truth for ourselves, for with it comes happiness and power.” Many battles were fought, and the broken truth was won and lost, won and lost, over and over again. But such was its power and beauty that no one ever doubted it, and when they were without it, they felt a great emptiness where their truth had been.

The stones and trees suffered. The breezes and waters suffered, and the animals, and the earth . . . And most of all, the people suffered.

Finally, the animals went to Old Turtle-- ancient and wise as the mountains and seas themselves. Crow and Fox went. Coyote went. Raccoon, Butterfly, Bear and many others. All went to see Old Turtle.

“This truth the people quarrel over,” they said, “we have all held it ourselves. It is broken and does not work. Please tell the people.”

“I am sorry,” answered Old Turtle, “but the people will not listen. They are not yet ready.”

And the suffering continued.

           

Until one day . . . a Little Girl came to find Old Turtle. She had traveled very far, had crossed the Mountains of Imagining and the River of Wondering Why, had found her way through the Forest of Finding Out. And when she had grown tired, she had ridden on the backs of animals or the wings of birds, and they had helped her find her way.

Finally they came to a great hill in the very center of the world. From there, the Little Girl thought she had never seen so far, or seen so much beauty.

But when she saw Old Turtle, she could hardly speak. She simply looked with eyes full of wonder.

“Why have you come so far to find me, Little One?” asked Old Turtle. Her voice rumbled like far away thunder, but was as soft as the breeze through the caterpillar’s whiskers.

“I . . . I wanted to ask a question,” answered the Little Girl. “Where I live, the earth is sore and people are suffering. Battles are fought, over and over again. People say it has always been this way and will never change. Can it change, Old Turtle? Can we make it change?”

Old Turtle spoke, “The world as you describe is not the world that has always been, Little One.”

Then Old Turtle told of how the people had found the broken truth, and the suffering it had caused. “It is because it is so close to a great, whole truth that it has such beauty, and that the people love it so,” said Old Turtle. “It is the lost portion of that broken truth that the people need, if the world is to be made whole again.”

“But where is the missing piece?” asked the Little Girl. “Can we put the truth back together again?”

“First, my child,” said the Old Turtle, “remember that there are truths all around us, and within us. They twinkle in the night sky and bloom upon the earth. They fall upon us every day, silent as the snow and gentle as the rain. The people, clutching their one truth, forget that it is part of all of the small and lovely truths of life. They no longer see these truths, no longer hear them.

“But . . . perhaps, Little One, you can . . .”

“I -- I’ll try,” said the Little Girl.

And she thought once more of her long journey. She looked upon all the beauty that surrounded her, from the far hills to the flowers beneath her feet. She saw the movement of the clouds and the soaring of birds and the dancing of light upon the green and living earth. She heard the whispering of a breeze.

And gradually . . . a feeling came over her, as though all the world were made of truths. As if the world had been made just for her and she had been made for it. And she felt a secret smile somewhere deep inside . . . and thought that, perhaps, she understood.

She looked once again at Old Turtle, her eyes more filled with wonder than before.

Old Turtle spoke again.

“Remember this also, Little One,” she said. “The Broken Truth, and life itself, will be mended only when one person meets another-- someone from a different place or with a different face or different ways-- and sees and hears . . . herself. Only then will the people know that every person, every being, is important, and that the world was made for each of us.”

For a long time then the two friends were quiet, high on their hill in the very center of the world. And in her heart the Little Girl thought she could see other people in other beautiful lands, people with their own ways, their own truths . . . people different from her own, but still, somehow, The People.

Finally, the Little Girl asked one more question, “Old Turtle, how will the people learn these things?”

“By seeking out those small and simple truths all around them,” said Old Turtle. “By listening once more to the language of breezes, by learning lessons from the stones and animals and trees and stars. Even turtles,” she chuckled, “and little girls.

“Now, Little One, it is time for you to go, to return to your people and tell them what you have seen and learned, and to help them mend their Broken Truth.

“Take this with you,” said Old Turtle, as she placed something in the Little Girl’s hand. “I have saved it for a very long time, for someone just like you.”

The Little Girl looked at what the Old Turtle had given her. It was a kind of stone, a mysterious, beautiful stone. It was lovely to touch, and it made her feel good to hold it.

She squeezed it tightly, then tucked it away for her journey.

“Thank you, Old Turtle,” she said, and hugged her friend’s great, leathery neck.

And then she started home.

Once more she traveled through the Forest of Finding Out, crossed the River of Wondering Why and the Mountains of Imagining, Crow led the way, and again when the Little Girl grew tired, all her animal friends helped. She sometimes touched the stone the Old Turtle had given her to renew her strength. And it took a long time yet almost no time at all . . .

And she was home.

But it had been a very long journey, and those who take great journeys of the heart are changed.

The people did not recognize her. And when she spoke, they did not understand. She told them of her journey, but the people could not follow her words. She spoke of a world made of small and gentle truths, of all the peoples being one People. But they could not catch her meaning. She explained about the Broken Truth and the need to make it whole. But the people did not believe her and could not understand.

Finally, Crow, seeing all that had happened, flew to the place high above the village where the Great Truth was kept, in a place where all could see it. He cawed and cawed in his loudest voice. And suddenly the Little Girl knew what to do. She climbed to the high place herself. She took the Old Turtle’s stone from her pocket and  . . . carefully . . . added the missing piece to the old, broken one.

The fit was perfect. “You are loved and so are they.” The people looked. And looked. And looked. Some frowned. Some smiled. Some even laughed. And some cried. And they began to understand.

Time passed and upon the beautiful land the trees climbed like ladders to the stars, the waters shone like mirrors, and the people saw their beauty. A breeze stirred and they heard its music. Tiny truths fell by day and night, gentle as the rain and snow, and the people found them and kept them in their hearts.

And slowly, as the people met other people different from themselves, they began to see . . . themselves.

And far away, on a hill in the very center of the world . . .

Old Turtle smiled.”

I have been reflecting on this story as I begin to see myself and my loved ones in my neighbors and students and even in my community mates who look a little more like myself than say, my students. I have also been reflecting on this story in light of building religious tension in Zanzibar. There has been an increase in violence toward Christians, particularly Catholics, in Zanzibar in the past few months and weeks which seems to mirror the battles described in this story. Religion is a tricky thing, you see. It can be an incredibly unifying force in the world, as I have experienced in tangible ways. When my grandfather passed away just a few weeks ago, I found deep comfort in being able to celebrate Mass with my students on the day of his funeral when my family and friends were gathered together celebrating his life. We said the same prayers and received the same nourishing truth in the Eucharist despite the miles which separated us. I have found community in attending daily Mass at Loyola and I have found friendship in the religious sisters teaching at Loyola. One sister is from India, another from Uganda, another from Tanzania. I begin my day with these strong women from different corners of the world celebrating a common faith and worshipping a common God.

Religion has the power to unify and foster community when it is at its best. Religion also has the power to create impenetrable boundaries, violence and war as we have seen throughout history. You don’t have to look far. Open a newspaper and you can read about relentless religious violence in the Middle East, stubborn resistance toward building mosques throughout Europe or political vitriol arguing religion’s place in marriage, abortion, poverty, healthcare, unemployment, etc. Our human history is fraught with religiously-motivated violence and wars.

Of course, religious truths are not the only ones we cling to. We have as many or more cultural truths in which we seek comfort and refuge- truths which do have value and tremendous importance to individuals and whole communities, truths which can shape individuals and communities in life-affirming ways. The problem comes when we fail to see the value in the variety of truths of religion or culture which exists in the world. The problem comes when we cling to our truths with clenched fists or defend our truths with tanks and guns.

The message of this short story seems so simple, “You are loved and so are they.” But, at the same time, we can see why clinging to our broken truth is so attractive. Our happiness and personal interests and livelihoods are at stake. We can understand why the man clings to his broken truth, why he guards it and worships it and why others want to seize it for their own happiness. We are human and we are flawed, like the religions we cling to, but we also possess the potential to create communities and recognize the truth in each other and the truths in creation. Unlike the animals in this story, we have the capacity to create communities, to love each other and to grow closer to God by seeing Him or Her in all things- in all people, even the ones who worship a different god . . . in all experiences, even the really difficult, heartbreaking ones . . . in all of creation, even the ugly, broken parts.

We have the capacity to recognize common truths in each other and in all of creation. It can be really difficult at times, it can feel like we’re losing parts of ourselves in the process, parts of ourselves that we value and call our whole ‘self,’ but the self that we can become when we do this is much closer to the whole truth than the partial piece we now cling to. As humans, I believe, we are called to seek this whole truth in each other and in creation . . . and the good news is that we don’t have to move to Tanzania for two years to do it either!

A Few Updates (sorry for the lack of creativity)

This blog is long overdue and therefore, probably not as coherent or complete as it should be. Bear with me, here are a few updates on different aspects of life here:

1.  I just finished my fourth week at Loyola. Wow. Ok. I now have a pretty good grasp of all of my students’ names and a preliminary sense of their personalities. The variety of levels of ability in each of the classes is a challenge, especially when it comes to speaking English. It seems that even 11-15 year olds understand the universal language of a sticker, so it’s nice to have that trick up my sleeve when behavior is poor or participation is lagging. For the most part, though, my time in the classroom has been wonderfully challenging. I continue to grow in my appreciation for all of the educators in my life. As the daughter of two educators, I thought I had a healthy appreciation for them already, but there’s nothing like standing in front of a class of 38 students everyday to give you a taste of how much energy it really takes to be a teacher. So, thank you, to all of the educators reading this- for your energy, your commitment and your respect!

2.  This past week I took the dala dala(public transportation ‘system’) by myself twice! This was a necessary step toward an increased feeling of independence which I have missed deeply. It’s funny to think that the 14 year old who travelled into Manhattan everyday on her own would become a 22 year old intimidated by something called a ‘dala dala,’ but alas it was a surmountable challenge which left me highly satisfied despite a few mistakes along the way. Both trips were to Posta (the only Post Office in Dar es Salaam)- one was to send mail, the other to pick up a package from a thoughtful, fabulous family member! I made different mistakes each time, but learned what not to do next time and made some Tanzanian friends along the way! It was simultaneously liberating and terrifying to be the only mzungu on the dala with no way of communicating with anyone but those around me. It forced me to trust strangers and was an excellent lesson in humility.

3.  I am becoming more and more comfortable with saying the responses at Mass in Kiswahili! Granted, I use a little book to guide me along, but my goal is to be comfortable saying the Nicene Creed in another month without the book. Admittedly, I have been using the homily time as an opportunity to memorize the creed . . . probably not the most reverent action, but it is definitely more productive than trying to understand the spoken Swahili homily, at least at this point. Given the fact that I still stumble over the whole “consubstantial with the Father” part in English, one month might be a lofty goal for Swahili, but it’s worth a try! I do attend daily Mass at Loyola in English, so it’s nice to be able to participate in English during the week and practice my Swahili on Sundays.

4.  My cooking skills are expanding each week as Cait and I prepare dinner for the community each Tuesday and Wednesday. This week we made homemade eggrolls(which were delicious!!!) with a peanut butter sauce and chapati and a spiced vegetable/egg medley another night. Other things which have been added to my repertoire are: homemade biscuits, banana pancakes (Dad, aren’t you so proud? I’ve finally overcome my fear of flipping a pancake!!), ginger Asian vegetable salad and homemade hummus (I’ve come to an unexpectedly high level of appreciation for Tribe and Sabra and even canned chickpeas and food processors after hand mashing a 1/2 kilo of chickpeas into a paste).

5.  I never expected that I would be glued to a copy of The Economist as intently as I was upon receiving one from a family member, but my information intake has been radically reduced with limited internet access and I found myself reading it with unprecedented intensity. I loved reading news about the Inauguration and Obama’s new cabinet and even news about the conflicts in Syria and Mali. Somehow, I forgot how much I love politics and international affairs while in the middle of this international experience, weird how that happens. It’s even more interesting to read about the news from this geographic vantage point. So, if anyone’s feeling generous . . . I’d love old copies of the NYT, The Economist or other news sources!

First Day of School

Just some quick updates from my first day of school at Loyola High School:

We began the day with an opening assembly for the new school year at which new students and staff members were introduced by the Headmaster. We started the assembly with the school prayer, song and the Tanzanian national anthem (all of which I need to learn!!). Following the assembly (8:00-10:00a.m.), we broke for Tea, and then Cait and I divided up our lessons for this term!

My students, the newest students to the school, who will be in the Human Development Program(HDP) in order to become more comfortable with speaking English, are in orientation this whole week. I will teach one Religion class to Form 1 students on Wednesday, but otherwise, the teaching will commence next week! I now know that I will be teaching HDP Current News, Model Assembly, Word Games, Jesuit Values and Oral English. The main purpose of this curriculum is to create an environment in which English is being spoken, written and learned in order to ready the students for the academic demands of an English speaking high school. Fortunately, I have the resources of Former JV’s (FJV’s) and my second year JV, Cait, all to help me with lesson planning for the year!

We closed the first day with a school Mass and tomorrow, I will meet my HDP students and accompany them during their orientation as we simultaneously orient and acclimate ourselves to our new school and home away from home. More reflection to come soon!