Last Days

I think the best way for me to begin reflecting on the process of leaving my home in Dar is to consider my last day in Tanzania in light of my last day in the States, over two years ago:

December 7th, 2012

My last day in the States included morning Mass and breakfast out with my mom and dad, some last minute final touches on packing, a manicure and pedicure with my mom, a stop at the bank to hand over power of attorney to my dad and a surprise visit from some family members. I had been packed or packing for at least four days, everything was in order and really there wasn’t very much to worry about. All of the necessary things had been done and checked off a carefully crafted to do list- including planned goodbyes to family and friends. 

Despite all of this preparedness, though, I was not happy when I received my surprise visitors. I was anxious and annoyed and worried about losing a few minutes even though the visitors had the kindest intentions. I put on a happy face and welcomed them, but was really preoccupied by wondering if I would have enough time for my last hot shower and final preparations. I think, in total, they might have stayed in our living room for about 10 minutes and, of course, I still had more than enough time to do everything I needed to and arrive at the airport plenty early, even for an international flight.

In hindsight, being present to my visitors in their kindness would have been the best preparation for the next two years of my life . . . but alas, it takes some of us longer to learn such lessons.

Now, flash forward two years, a few days and a transformation of mind and spirit.

December 10th, 2014

I woke up, ran at Loyola, finished some packing I had started the day before, cleaned my bedroom and bathroom all before 8:00 a.m. The rest of the day involved a constant stream of visitors. From when we began to eat our banana pancake breakfast as a community until my last bucket shower a half hour before leaving for the airport, we had guests. You can factcheck with my community-mates, perhaps my memory is a bit distorted, but I think this is a pretty accurate picture of my last day in Dar. 

In fact, I am certain that if I didn’t say to some of my students, “Ok, you have to leave now so that I can bathe,” they would have waited until we packed the car with our bags and maybe even hopped in the trunk. And you know, I was so incredibly grateful for their company, their love and their support. We looked at pictures, told stories, ate cake (lots of cake, thanks to the Nandi family!) and they accompanied me to neighbors’ homes as we said our final goodbyes. Once or twice it crossed my mind that I still wasn’t really packed, hadn’t showered since the night before and probably should wash my hair one last time, but those thoughts faded quickly as another friend knocked on the gate and joined us to celebrate and share our last hours in our Tanzanian home.

And still, we arrived at the airport, despite the chronic traffic jams of Dar es Salaam, with more than enough time to sit, reflect and process the whirlwind of visits and goodbyes of the last week. We even got complimented on our outfits as we went through immigration.

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At this point in this two year transformation, I needed those people supporting me, loving me and showering me with their presence. I never once felt alone or afraid. I couldn’t feel sad and wallow in the pain of leaving; I didn’t have time to. I only had time to be present to the person next time, accompanying me to the end of this part of the journey.

If my last days in each of my homes are any kind of indication, I think I have undergone some kind of transformation- the extent of which I have yet to truly understand, but I invite each of you to continue journeying with me as I rediscover my American home as a Tanzanian-Irish-American for the first time. 

Welcome to our home to say hello! I should probably run this past my parents, but I would love to see you and be reminded of my community of support in my American home. Often, we Americans (myself included) value our schedules and to do lists more than the person in front of us, but Tanzanians have shown me the beauty and joy of accepting visitors and accompanying friends. I hope to share this value with those I love at home. Karibuni wote!

'my story'

My Story:

On our recent Re-Orientation/Dis-Orientation Retreat facilitated by JVC staff, the second year volunteers participated in a session on ‘sharing our story.’ I’ve done this before: in community organizing, in interviews, even in my initial JVC application. For some reason, though, this felt different. It felt as if I was to summarize two years of my life that were somehow separate or different from the rest, like I was supposed to explain what I was ‘doing’ this whole time. Two years is a significant amount of time ‘away,’ after all, and no, it wasn’t a trip or a vacation or a marketable, one size fits all, package-able experience; it was and still is simply my life for two years.

What happened in your life in the past two years? Probably a whole lot of ordinary or maybe not so ordinary experiences which have formed you in some way into who you are today. When I started to think of it this way, it all seemed much more manageable. These past two years in Tanzania fit into the natural flow of my life, but they’re also special in a way . . . now, how to communicate this clearly, concisely and thoughtfully? to the neighbor I see for the first time in December? to my grandmother? to my college roommate? my professors? and everyone else who will surely ask, “How was it?”

Well, my 4 year old nephew seems to ask the hardest questions, so if I can explain, ‘why Aunt Katie was in Africa for soo long’ to him, then I can explain it to anyone. Right?Just like, if I can explain the Resurrection of Christ on Easter Sunday to my 14 year old students for whom English is a second or maybe third language, then I can explain it to anyone. Right? I can try . . . 

Here’s the ‘John’ explanation: 

(read on if you want more justification, but I think, really, the John explanation might suffice)

The children and the families I lived and learned with are just like you and just like our family. Later on in your life, if you hear someone tell you that they’re not as good or different in a bad way- remember what I am telling you now: they were my friends and family for two years and they still are. We all deserve the same love and the same chances to learn and grow.

. . . extended story.

Extended version . . . 

Image:

Standing at the top of a hill before coming down to sit by the pond to attempt this ‘story’ exercise . . . I could see the big picture, maybe not the details of the yellow birds fluttering across the pond with sticks to build their nests, but I could see how the pond fit in as part of the larger landscape of trees and mountains, valleys and sky. There are also different details to observe around me at the higher vantage point- the flowers right next to me, the Chapel behind me, the tree in front of me . . . and they are important, too, and they all fit together as part of my experience.

I want to share the details of the pond and also how those details fit into the larger landscape of my life. I must appreciate the beauty and the details around me, no matter, what vantage point I’m currently taking.

“Be with us and PROCLAIM the richness of our life which you can share with us.”

Like the Acts of the Apostles and the other books after the Gospels, Jesus is no longer with the Apostles in the same way. The witness portion of their ministry seems distant, their friend is no longer with them, curing the sick, feeding the hungry, multiplying bread and wine, etc. They’re afraid: of telling the right story of Jesus’ ministry, of facing persecution, of missing the everyday miracles and conversations they shared with their companion and savior. But God knows this, and sends them the Holy Spirit to be among them, to journey with them as they struggle to share their story of their time with Him, their time of witness and accompaniment. They even receive certain helpful gifts, like courage, wisdom and discernment. 

What richness should I proclaim? . . . hospitality, faith, presence, community, generosity, people > things

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

It is not about the work I did or what I gave of myself, but what I received and who I have become.

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

It has been a journey of discovering faith and family.

NOW: “Will you use the faith you’ve found to reshape the world around?”

Now, I must share this faith and put it into action, allow it to form me and inform my next steps on this journey and my everyday, whether I am sitting by the pond or standing at the top of the hill observing the landscape as a whole, I must notice the beauty of the details around me wherever I am.

COLOR*BOLDNESS*BEAUTY

Small Miracles/Miujiza Midogo

A reflection on my 23rd year of life and the everyday miujiza midogo  (small miracles). 

This week’s gospels have recounted events of Jesus’ life which he clearly takes as activities kama kawaida (as usual) and his disciples take as alarming, confusing and mystifying miracles. 

On Sunday, Jesus casually turned five loaves and two fish into food for five thousand and then some. 

On Monday, he walked across water to get to his friends in their boat. 

On Wednesday, his transfigured-self chatted with Moses and Elijah on top of a mountain. 

And the disciples’ reactions to these miracles are just so . . . human. 

Sunday: ‘It’s not possible, send them away to buy food.’

Monday: ‘It’s a ghost!’ 

Wednesday: ‘Let’s stay up here and build each of you a temple!’  

They didn’t know how to react. Of course they didn’t. We probably wouldn’t either.

And sometimes we don’t know how to react to the everyday miracles which can go unnoticed. Even the most devoted and earnest of Jesus’ disciples questioned his greatness. On Monday, as Jesus is assuring them that he is not, in fact, a ghost, Peter demands, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” Then as he is walking towards Christ, a strong wind comes along and he freaks out and begs for help.  Well, you got what you wanted, Peter, what now?

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I don’t know about you, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen five thousand people fed in one place, never mind with one loaf of bread, and for all of my time spent by the seaside, I have yet to see anyone successfully get from point a to point b without becoming wet and/or swimming, and I definitely haven’t had any visions of Jesus, Moses and Elijah up on a mountain top- Dar es Salaam is pretty flat. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not experiencing God’s love everyday. The small, everyday miracles are the things to which we must pay great attention in order to experience the same human emotions of awe, fear and disbelief like the disciples.

I recently turned 24. A good age, I think. Better than 23. 23 doesn’t really seem like an important number or age. It’s not impressive or interesting or evenly divisible by 2. But my 23rd year of life is significant in that it has been my only full year of life spent outside of the U.S., away from home. 23 is significant because of all of the everyday miujiza midogo which I have experienced and witnessed. And much like the disciples, I frequently did not know how to react and probably didn’t always recognize God’s presence in those moments. 

There were times when I felt like saying, “It’s not possible, send them away to buy food.” And then, we fed a few more guests than we had initially planned for. Or, ‘There just isn’t enough . . . food/resources/clothes/money/whatever.’ And then the community came together and there was more than enough.

There were times when I was afraid and confused and felt like I was looking at a ghost in place of a home and a family I used to know and understand. There were times when I demanded Christ, or God, or the Holy Spirit, or Someone to prove to me that I could do more and then in my frustration and fear, stumbled and again called for help.

There were also times that seemed so perfect or miraculous that I wanted to stay there and build a temple and not return to the everyday. There were people and places and moments that I was attached to, that I loved too much to let go. But when I did, I was able to find a new miracle in a new person, place, or moment. And I discovered the beauty of detachment as I was liberated to find joy and community in unexpected people, places and moments.

In this 24th year of life, which will be spent navigating significant transitions and exploring old relationships and places from a new perspective, I pray that my eyes will be open to the miujiza midogo of everyday life. I pray that I will be open to loving the present moment, the person next to me and the place I occupy. I pray this prayer for myself and for each of you.

(Gospels referenced: Mtt. 14:13-21, Mtt. 14: 22-32, Mtt. 17:1-8)

Ordinary?

I’m not writing this blog post after any particular ‘critical incident’ or from any specific source of inspiration. I hope you’ll continue reading anyway. 

I’m writing because I’ve been using, “but there’s nothing new,” as an excuse for not writing for almost three months. This is partially true. There really isn’t ‘much to write home about.’ I am here. I have been here for a long time. And I have kind of forgotten which incidents are unique, or special, or noteworthy. They are just part of my life. It’s as if I’ve forgotten that there’s something worth sharing, worth writing. And maybe there isn’t; and maybe my parents are the only ones who will read this; and maybe that’s o.k. 

My life has gotten smaller. I don’t watch the news everyday or read the newspaper. I am not in communication with a great many of my friends and family on a daily or even weekly basis. I am also not really lamenting this distance. I don’t mean this to sound harsh or callous. I do miss and love many people from home, but this wound just isn’t so excruciatingly fresh anymore. It’s more like the scar on my right shin. With time, Vitamin E supplements and sun exposure, it has mostly blended into the pale, freckly landscape of my leg. It’s there; you can see it if I point it out to you; I could explain in vivid detail the act that initially formed the wound, if you were interested, but most days you probably wouldn’t even notice it. I love my family, I love my friends and I will be happy to see them again, but I’ve healed. I’m here and I’m at peace with this.

I have a community here. I have co-workers and a parish and a neighborhood of people whom I see everyday and greet and pray with and share my life with. I guess this is immersion. This is the whole point after all, right? Then why does it feel so devoid of significance? of blog-worthy moments?

Last Sunday, I went for a run, showered, went to Mass, made fruit salad, graded essays,  sorted beans, baked bread, ate with my community, read my book and . . . went to bed. I think my life as a five year old actually may have been more ‘blog-worthy’- at least then I played out imaginary dramas and wrote raps with my big brother. 

My daily life is quite remarkably ordinary. I wake up at around 5:00 a.m., exercise, make coffee, read the readings of the day while eating breakfast, go to work, come home and do something very similar the next day. It might sound dull, but it isn’t. There are still those moments of joy I wrote about in a previous post, there are still moments of confusion and misunderstanding, but I’m just more balanced. I’m happy, healthy, joyful, enthusiastic and at peace. I am grateful for this peacefulness and I’m grateful for the ways it has allowed me to be present to God in others, in the everyday details of life in Mabibo.

after the storm

There will come a time, you’ll see, with no more tears and love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears. Get over your hill and see what you find there with grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.

(Mumford and Sons, “After the Storm”)

This past month has been very difficult. Many of the things I hoped wouldn’t happen, or couldn’t even anticipate happening while I was living so far from home seemed to happen. People I loved got sick, died, suffered, grieved, lost hope, became confused, distant and overwhelmed. And it seemed like it all happened to all different people in my life at the same moment. I was being pulled, yanked even, from this place and these relationships back to my roots. I became confused, distant, overwhelmed and sick(thanks to a nasty little parasite). But through all of this, I felt God drawing me closer.

God had given me all of the people, love and support I needed at exactly the right moments to sustain me, to give me hope, to allow me to love and to forgive despite my confusion. Yesterday, I found clarity as I reorganized my room as a physical sign of renewal. I read through letters, cards and notes from the last two years and some things I had written in college. The love from family and friends in those letters and physical signs of support was overwhelming, but what was most surprising was something I had written as part of my “Public Service Autobiography” for my Public and Community Service Capstone in 2012. Generally, when I look back on things I wrote in college, I do so while laughing at my pretension and self-righteousness. This, however, was the exception. It was totally and completely honest and relevant.  

(I refer to the story of “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” several times- it’s worth reading if you haven’t already!)

Here it is:

 “I am constantly trying to answer the questions I did not know I was asking myself when I was five-- how do I walk away from Omelas? How do I identify an injustice and rectify it? How do I make my communities more honest, complete and accepting? How do I bring peace into the world? And most importantly, how do I walk away from Omelas while maintaining and developing my relationships with my loving, supportive, undeniably hard-working and selfless family in the suburbs? It has taken time, thought, reflection, and a range of emotions including anger, sadness, joy, bliss, and confusion to understand this dilemma.

I now know that I will always challenge myself to consider this question of my place in the world. I haven’t been complacent since I was five and I don’t think I will ever allow myself to be complacent. That does not, however, mean that I will never allow myself to be content. On the contrary, I will not be content with my most important relationships unless I am working on my relationship with the child and slowly walking away from Omelas, slowly working to live more honestly. At this pivotal transition point, it may seem exceptionally important to reflect on how I do this and how I will continue to live my life, but in reality, this is a question I have been asking myself since I was 5 and probably won’t stop asking myself until I’m 105. 

I am at peace with this realization. It may seem completely intimidating, unstable, impractical and unconventional to many, but I gain inner calmness, stability and purpose from challenging myself to think about my relationship with injustice and my place within or without the walls of Omelas. The inner calmness, stability and purpose which I gain from working for justice is what sustains me and allows me to be present to my family and friends throughout the world.”

I have found this inner calmness, stability and purpose here in Dar es Salaam, living as a JV- learning to teach and be taught, learning to love and be loved, learning to listen and be listened to, learning to give and receive, learning to be gentle and accept gentleness. This is a grace. It is a grace I am thankful for. It is a grace I pray for and try to nurture while recognizing my own flaws and brokenness.

“So, in the quietness of this place, in this group, in this particular moment, on this particular afternoon, surrounded by the presence of the Holy, my heart whispers to me: keep fresh before me the moments of my Highest knowing that in fair weather or foul, in good times or in tempests, in the days when the darkness and the foe are nameless or familiar, in the mix of voices, mine and others, in my fears and my frets, my weakness and my love I may not forget that, to which my life is committed.”

(excerpt from Deep is the Hunger by Howard Thurman)

Paka na Ng'ombe

This past Monday evening, after returning from a full day of school and basketball practice, I planned to continue my own exercise routine at home before eating dinner with the community. Like clockwork, just as I began my evening workout, our lovely neighborhood children began banging (no, really. not knocking- banging) on our gate. Either a reserve of endorphins from basketball practice or God’s hand was responsible for my generous and patient response to the gate. I calmly explained that we can’t play right now because we’re cooking and exercising. Case closed. Goodbye. See you tomorrow, when you will surely return and try again. 

Surprisingly, and to my dismay- my calm, but somewhat curt response did not deter them . . .

Their response: “Can we exercise with you, teacha?” 

My intentionally delayed response: “Are you sure you really want to? We can’t play around.” 

Their immediate and enthusiastic response: “YES, YES, teacher! We want to do exercises with you.” 

So, intrigued and incredulous about where this could lead, I welcomed them to the porch where I continued with my routine. I figured I would start with a challenging exercise so maybe they’d want to go home early. Of course, my attempt to discourage and tire them out also failed. In fact, it had the exactly opposite effect. They loved it. They laughed, counted together and cheered the whole time. “Another, teacher! Another!” 

We did jumping jacks and high knees, lunges and downward dogs; we took turns counting in English and Kiswahili. When I finally gave into their joy and gave up trying to keep my ‘me’ time just for me, I realized that I was having way more fun meowing for paka pose and mooing for ng’ombe pose than I have ever had inhaling for cat pose and exhaling for cow alone in my room. We all had a blast, and, in truth, I probably got a better and longer workout from all of the laughing and the joy distracting me from my tired body. I finally understood what the yoga instructors mean when they say, “have fun with your practice!” Making animal noises and helping some chubby kids find their way into warrior pose was definitely more fun than my calm, solitary practice.

I am now certain that God was in that moment reminding me, yet again, to let go of my plans and make room for joy. 

“The simple life is one in which there is always time to remember the divine purpose behind each of our tasks, time to listen for a possible divine amendment to the day’s schedule, and time to be thankful for the divine presence at each moment of the day.” 

(from Plain Living: A Quaker Path to Simplicity by Catherine Whitmire)

Tupopamoja

Yesterday, I was reminded of the importance of community and accountability. For obvious reasons, we JVs tend to stand out a little bit more than most of our neighbors, which makes our presence or absence at neighborhood events noticeable. I have grown up in tight-knit communities in which one’s absence or presence at certain events is also noticed, so I’m used to this cultural norm to a certain extent. What I forgot along the way was that, despite our differences, the mental checklist that our Tanzanian neighbors keep extends to us in pretty much the same ways it does to other community members. Community accountability is a core Tanzanian value and one which is sometimes a challenge to our American, independence-loving sensibilities. It is a challenge I have grown to appreciate.

Yesterday morning, we decided to sleep-in instead of going to our neighborhood prayer group (Jumuia). The group is a small subsection of our parish and the basis from which all parish activity stems. We have recently become regular participants in this group and do intend to at least try to continue participating into the school year. It will be a challenge since it meets at 6:00 a.m. on Saturday mornings, but if I’m waking up at 5:00 a.m. to run anyway, what’s the difference, right? (My former, sleep-loving self would have laughed at such an argument. Growth.) Really, though, because it is the foundational part of East African parishes, we think it’s important for us to be present at least every once in a while. It’s also an intentional place for speaking and praying in Swahili and getting to know our neighbors better- generally a nice idea, except for the whole 6:00 a.m. on a Saturday thing . . .

Because we were out a little bit later than usual the night before, we slept instead of prayed yesterday. We, foolishly, thought we could get away with this, especially since we kept our eyes open (and mostly attentive) during the extended, special edition, two hour version we attended last week. . . Saturday afternoon wedding Mass counts for Sunday, right? Wrong. 

As we went about our daily business later in the day, two separate Jumuia members stopped us to asked where we were . . . Is everyone o.k.? Someone must be sick? Traveling? Yep. No. Nope. We were lazy. We apologized and promised that we would be present and punctual next week. I might have been slightly bothered by this kind of accountability this time last year. ‘Mind your own business. I’m gonna do what I want. I’ll sleep if I want to.’ (Something along those lines) But this time, I appreciated it. It felt nice to be missed, to be noticed, to be a part of the community, to be held accountable to our commitment. Perhaps more than simply growing in my sleeping patterns and dependence on iced coffee, I have grown in my commitment to intentional community and in my detachment from excessive ‘me’ time and doing what I want, when I want, how I want. There’s value in this, I think.

I was again reminded of the importance of accountability as I passed the mama who sells soda, about 10 minutes after the Jumuia interrogation. (Backstory: I had bought 4 bottles of soda on New Year’s Eve without bringing glass bottles to exchange. She didn’t charge me for the bottle fee, but instructed me to return the bottles the next day.) Somehow, this little task slipped my mind. But, don’t worry, as I greeted her with “Shikamoo!” yesterday afternoon, she greeted me with, “Sister, where are my bottles?” “Right! of course, I’ll bring them later. Thanks for the reminder.”

Sometimes there is great value to open, honest accountability. I’m glad I have grown in my appreciation for this part of community life and I hope that it will continue to form the ways I interact with others in my communities beyond my two years in Tanzania.

Merry Christmas from Dar JVs in Dodoma!

Updates as of 12/17/13

Some updates:

1. School closed about 3 weeks ago now and time has been flying by ever since. We have visited a lot of families and friends as Beth and Cait said their goodbyes. Witnessing their goodbyes has made me very grateful for a second year here to continue to develop the relationships I have begun to form in my first year as well as to dive deeper into different communities of which we are already apart and to improve my Swahili now that I am comfortable with other parts of Tanzanian culture.

2. We all finished the Dar Uhuru Day Half Marathon despite the unfavorable conditions. The race started at 7:00 a.m. and so the sun had already risen with a vengeance.  I thought I was lost at one point and mistakenly directed to the full marathon course and I cried a little bit, almost gave up but thankfully found the determination to keep running along without very much direction. Let’s just say any race I run at home will feel like a breeze compared to this one. But we all finished and with pretty decent times, so we accomplished our community goal!

3. That same day, after some final preparations in the house, Erin and Alyson arrived with the new JVs for Dodoma. That evening, we traveled together as a community through the rain and darkness that welcomed these four new JVs to Tanzania. Goodbyes and hellos commenced during that week of transition from the Dar 2013 community to the Dar 2014 community. Beth and Cait left early Friday morning while Erin and Alyson were at their homestays and Kathleen and I had a nice full day to relax and get ready to truly begin a new year when we all came back to our home together for the first time as a community. I’m feeling great about the transition and am looking forward to what this next year will bring!

4. Tomorrow, we are leaving for our retreat in Arusha, where, thankfully, it is cooler and quieter. We will spend a few days there with the Dodoma volunteers getting to know each other and getting familiar with the four JVC values and thinking about how we can live them out in this next year. Then we will travel with the Dodoma volunteers to celebrate Christmas at their home. We are looking forward to the change of scenery and weather conditions and of course the company of the Jesuit and JV community to celebrate with.

Thank you all for your love and support, even when I don’t have internet access to stay in touch with you. You are all always in my daily thoughts and prayers of thanksgiving. I’m wishing you joy, peace and an awareness of God’s presence in your life for the Christmas and holiday season!

Uhuru Day Half Marathon

After completing the hottest and least enjoyable running race I have ever participated in, but at least we all finished!!!

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.