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. 

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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)!