So many times these last few weeks, I've been thinking in my head about the perfect final blog post. This blog post would concisely yet thoroughly capture all the ups and downs of the last 2 years, would communicate how I have gleaned wisdom and meaning from these experiences, and, of course, it would wrap it all up with a neat bow. It would read: "I was sent here to Tanzania to do this; I came, I saw, I conquered and I'm a better person because of this for these 3 reasons (of course 3 - the favorite number of sermon points). Now I'm going back to the U.S. to change the world in these (3?) ways and this is my plan to do this."
This, my friends, is not that blog post.
The last few weeks have been a swirl of emotions and stress and I just haven't had any time to fully process any of it. My goal has been just to keep my head above water and do what I need to do in that moment. Today, our last day in Dar, will not be spent reflecting out upon our last views of the Indian Ocean. It will be spent frantically packing, delivering furniture and printing out boarding passes and itineraries.
Although I haven't had a lot of focused reflection time, the messages that keep circling in my brain are not positive ones. They are words of judgment: You should have learned more Swahili! You could have done a better job getting to know that person. I wish you would have lived more "in the moment." Did you truly appreciate the beauty and community you were in while you were in it?
Needless to say, these are not uplifting or helpful messages and serve only to rock my too-fragile emotional core. These same judgmental refrains were also a part of my pre-Tanzania life (and most definitely will be a part of post-Tanzania life). They are words of a frustrated perfectionist/over-achiever who's still trying to do.
I picture myself standing before my Savior one day with all these messages of shoulda/coulda/woulda on my lips...apologies, guilt, recrimination for the life I led. I'm not able to look Him in the eye; I didn't do for the least of these. I was ashamed of the gospel. I did fail so many times and in so many ways to be the person I was created to be.
But then He says; "Well done, good and faithful servant." And it's not because of anything I have done or ever could do: It's because of what He did. That is Grace!
So I'm trying to extend this same grace to myself, which is freely offered even in this life. I do think with time and distance, I will get more perspective on the whole experience. I do know that I'm not the same person I was. I know that I've been changed in so many ways: some that I won't even realize until I'm back in the old/new "daily grind," and some I may never consciously realize.
The Tanzanian journey will continue - just not in Tanzania any longer, and so I plan to write periodic updates to this story from the U.S. from time to time.
Thanks for being with us the past 2 years. We couldn't have done it without all of you.
Mungu akubariki! (God bless you).
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
Monday, June 15, 2015
Simple Pleasures
For her birthday this past week, one of Charlotte's most-cherished gifts was a can of Mug root beer. Next week, Josh will get a small bag of pretzels (shhh...don't tell). Emily's birthday highlight in March was a box of Betty Crocker blueberry muffin mix. These items are rare, pricey (probably around 3-4 times the cost in the U.S. or so) and oh so precious here. They make awesome gifts!
I'm really going to miss the fact that a can of soda can be a birthday gift here. I love that we have only one car, we walk to school, a luxury splurge is the purchase of parmesan cheese and a big night out on the town is a movie at a friend's house. Living here has been very challenging and difficult, but it has been simple.
I am more than a bit frightened to re-enter the comparatively much easier, yet very consumeristic, fast-pased world of northern New Jersey. Here, just the treat bag at a middle-class child's birthday party is more elaborate than anything most children in Africa have ever seen.
We have always tried our best to embrace a simple lifestyle, but it is harder to do this in complicated surroundings. We love our kids and want them to have great experiences, and so this often involves second-guessing ourselves, being inconsistent and diluting values. I don't mind being "different" and continuing to try and live my missionary lifestyle in the suburbs, but to the teens and pre-teens, different means disastrous. The lines become blurry between "needs" and "wants."
I can remember one of the first times our "other-ness" caused a rift. Emily was in first grade and one of her best friends ate "Lunchables" every day. We refused to buy these, citing the cost and the less-than-ideal nutritional profile. At that age, she accepted our explanations at face value and, parroting our words, somewhat pompously informed her friend that, "Our family chooses to spend money on different things."
Over the years, this desire to keep up with friends has come up again and again: Why don't we have cable? Why can't I get an iPhone? My friend goes to Disney every year - why can't we? Why are we still driving our dented-up mini-van - my friend gets a new car every 2 years? "But Mom, they have a/we don't have a (fill in the blank...pool, dog, Abercrombie wardrobe, etc. etc. ....)"
Most of the time we say, "We can't afford that" and although there is usually an element of truth contained in that response, it goes deeper than that. Even when I have the money, I truly don't want to spend my money on some of these things. Every family budget reflects their values and I want to spend our money on things like educational travel, music lessons, family experiences, and on giving to others. I don't want to feed the engine that is a consumerist economy.
I know there will be a strong culture of entitlement facing my children. Thanks to the power of advertising, kids are bombarded with messages on what they every kid "should" have. And we haven't even entered the era of the prom (and prom-posals?) or the sweet 16 party. It's only going to get more challenging as the kids get older.
I'm already dreading the back-to-school shopping extravaganza in August: the cost, the waste (do they really need a new box of 24 crayons every year?), the desire already for brand names. Oh, how I will miss those HOPAC uniforms.
I am praying that our experiences here have changed us enough to better withstand this siren song of consumerism. I was encouraged a few nights ago, when, while reading "Mallory's Birthday" (a popular set of books for girls), Charlotte expressed disgust for Mallory's desire to celebrate a birthday month, which included a gift every day of the month and a cake every week just for her.
Charlotte stopped reading and said, "Mom, nobody needs a gift every day. She should be happy with what she has." (note - I'm sure that will eventually become the message of the book...we just haven't read that far).
Yet the sad truth is that, even here in Africa, where it's simpler to live and harder to buy stuff, we still managed to do so, in abundance. As we pack up, I am astounded at the amount we've managed to accumulate in just two years...and how much we think we "need," even living 1 kilometer away from a child living in a flimsy mud hut.
I'm really going to miss the fact that a can of soda can be a birthday gift here. I love that we have only one car, we walk to school, a luxury splurge is the purchase of parmesan cheese and a big night out on the town is a movie at a friend's house. Living here has been very challenging and difficult, but it has been simple.
I am more than a bit frightened to re-enter the comparatively much easier, yet very consumeristic, fast-pased world of northern New Jersey. Here, just the treat bag at a middle-class child's birthday party is more elaborate than anything most children in Africa have ever seen.
We have always tried our best to embrace a simple lifestyle, but it is harder to do this in complicated surroundings. We love our kids and want them to have great experiences, and so this often involves second-guessing ourselves, being inconsistent and diluting values. I don't mind being "different" and continuing to try and live my missionary lifestyle in the suburbs, but to the teens and pre-teens, different means disastrous. The lines become blurry between "needs" and "wants."
I can remember one of the first times our "other-ness" caused a rift. Emily was in first grade and one of her best friends ate "Lunchables" every day. We refused to buy these, citing the cost and the less-than-ideal nutritional profile. At that age, she accepted our explanations at face value and, parroting our words, somewhat pompously informed her friend that, "Our family chooses to spend money on different things."
Over the years, this desire to keep up with friends has come up again and again: Why don't we have cable? Why can't I get an iPhone? My friend goes to Disney every year - why can't we? Why are we still driving our dented-up mini-van - my friend gets a new car every 2 years? "But Mom, they have a/we don't have a (fill in the blank...pool, dog, Abercrombie wardrobe, etc. etc. ....)"
Most of the time we say, "We can't afford that" and although there is usually an element of truth contained in that response, it goes deeper than that. Even when I have the money, I truly don't want to spend my money on some of these things. Every family budget reflects their values and I want to spend our money on things like educational travel, music lessons, family experiences, and on giving to others. I don't want to feed the engine that is a consumerist economy.
I know there will be a strong culture of entitlement facing my children. Thanks to the power of advertising, kids are bombarded with messages on what they every kid "should" have. And we haven't even entered the era of the prom (and prom-posals?) or the sweet 16 party. It's only going to get more challenging as the kids get older.
I'm already dreading the back-to-school shopping extravaganza in August: the cost, the waste (do they really need a new box of 24 crayons every year?), the desire already for brand names. Oh, how I will miss those HOPAC uniforms.
I am praying that our experiences here have changed us enough to better withstand this siren song of consumerism. I was encouraged a few nights ago, when, while reading "Mallory's Birthday" (a popular set of books for girls), Charlotte expressed disgust for Mallory's desire to celebrate a birthday month, which included a gift every day of the month and a cake every week just for her.
Charlotte stopped reading and said, "Mom, nobody needs a gift every day. She should be happy with what she has." (note - I'm sure that will eventually become the message of the book...we just haven't read that far).
Yet the sad truth is that, even here in Africa, where it's simpler to live and harder to buy stuff, we still managed to do so, in abundance. As we pack up, I am astounded at the amount we've managed to accumulate in just two years...and how much we think we "need," even living 1 kilometer away from a child living in a flimsy mud hut.
Luke 12:15 says, "Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; life does not consist in an abundance of possessions."
Sunday, June 7, 2015
Running the Race
Back in February, I decided to run the HOPAC 5K race on June 6. I sat down and marked out a good 12-week training plan, because I ran this race last year and I wanted to improve my time. Although I had been running fairly consistently, I felt confident that if I followed the plan, I'd get even faster and stronger.
I eagerly followed my plan for a few weeks, and then life intervened. I hurt my back. Then I got sick. Then it rained. Then I got sick again. Then it rained again. I ended up running only 2 days in the month of May. It wasn't easy even on the days in which I could run. Along the way, I sweated profusely. Bugs flew into my eyes, nose and mouth while running. I slipped on mud. I slipped on gravel. I fell and bloodied my knee. I was laughed at by Maasai. One time, I had to run past a sketchy-looking guy who was doing some very personal business to the side of the road.
Running the actual race was equally ugly. Several times I felt like throwing up. I had to walk up most of the hill during the second lap. I needed to lie down most of yesterday afternoon after the race because I had a pounding headache and felt exhausted. I felt disappointed with myself because I hadn't followed the plan and my time was significantly worse than last year. (side note in that my husband and children are amazing athletes which is even more humbling).
Then I started thinking about how I hardly ever follow "the plan." Although it seems like others can flawlessly execute impressive lists of life goals, there are always obstacles in my path. My race course change started with the fact that although I was the top student in my class, I failed to get into any of my top college choices. I experienced another major plan detour when my dad died of cancer when I was 25 and I moved without a job to be with him in his final weeks. I never planned on being anything other than a full-time working mother but I haven't done that since Charlotte was born. Moving to Africa was never part of "the plan," either.
The good news is that the Race Maker plans the perfect course for all of us. I can't imagine living a life without a Calvin education, my NJ community, extra time with my kids or our time in Tanzania. Although we may not feel it at the time, it's the bumps and bruises that we suffer along the way that make us more like Jesus. Death to self also means death to our plan.
In looking at running the race from a Biblical perspective, Hebrews 12:1 says that we are to "run with perseverance the race marked out for us." I'll confess that the race I want to run is one on a level, paved course, at a perfect 68 degrees with low humidity and gentle breezes. It ends with me triumphantly crossing the finish line to victory, blowing kisses to my legions of adoring fans, setting a personal record without breaking a sweat.
But we do not determine the race that is marked out for us. We are called only to be faithful to the course set by the Race Maker and to do so with perseverance: of not giving up, no matter what. I love how The Message translates Hebrews 12:1: "Strip down, start running—and never quit! No extra spiritual fat, no parasitic sins. Keep your eyes on Jesus, who both began and finished this race we’re in. Study how he did it. Because he never lost sight of where he was headed—that exhilarating finish in and with God—he could put up with anything along the way: Cross, shame, whatever..."
The race I thought I'd be running in Dar es Salaam involved forming deep relationships with Tanzanians, becoming proficient in Swahili and leading people to Jesus. It included doing great acts of service to bring about meaningful change, lifting people out of poverty.
It did not include becoming beat down by the heat, power outages, and sickness. It did not include moments of aching loneliness, of cross-cultural awkwardness, of fractured family relationships, of tension and strain, of many, many times of wanting to quit. Many times, unlike Jesus, I lost sight of where I was headed.
My race has not always been easy or fun, but as I leave Tanzania, may I say along with Paul that "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." (2 Timothy 4:7).
I eagerly followed my plan for a few weeks, and then life intervened. I hurt my back. Then I got sick. Then it rained. Then I got sick again. Then it rained again. I ended up running only 2 days in the month of May. It wasn't easy even on the days in which I could run. Along the way, I sweated profusely. Bugs flew into my eyes, nose and mouth while running. I slipped on mud. I slipped on gravel. I fell and bloodied my knee. I was laughed at by Maasai. One time, I had to run past a sketchy-looking guy who was doing some very personal business to the side of the road.
Running the actual race was equally ugly. Several times I felt like throwing up. I had to walk up most of the hill during the second lap. I needed to lie down most of yesterday afternoon after the race because I had a pounding headache and felt exhausted. I felt disappointed with myself because I hadn't followed the plan and my time was significantly worse than last year. (side note in that my husband and children are amazing athletes which is even more humbling).
Then I started thinking about how I hardly ever follow "the plan." Although it seems like others can flawlessly execute impressive lists of life goals, there are always obstacles in my path. My race course change started with the fact that although I was the top student in my class, I failed to get into any of my top college choices. I experienced another major plan detour when my dad died of cancer when I was 25 and I moved without a job to be with him in his final weeks. I never planned on being anything other than a full-time working mother but I haven't done that since Charlotte was born. Moving to Africa was never part of "the plan," either.
The good news is that the Race Maker plans the perfect course for all of us. I can't imagine living a life without a Calvin education, my NJ community, extra time with my kids or our time in Tanzania. Although we may not feel it at the time, it's the bumps and bruises that we suffer along the way that make us more like Jesus. Death to self also means death to our plan.
In looking at running the race from a Biblical perspective, Hebrews 12:1 says that we are to "run with perseverance the race marked out for us." I'll confess that the race I want to run is one on a level, paved course, at a perfect 68 degrees with low humidity and gentle breezes. It ends with me triumphantly crossing the finish line to victory, blowing kisses to my legions of adoring fans, setting a personal record without breaking a sweat.
But we do not determine the race that is marked out for us. We are called only to be faithful to the course set by the Race Maker and to do so with perseverance: of not giving up, no matter what. I love how The Message translates Hebrews 12:1: "Strip down, start running—and never quit! No extra spiritual fat, no parasitic sins. Keep your eyes on Jesus, who both began and finished this race we’re in. Study how he did it. Because he never lost sight of where he was headed—that exhilarating finish in and with God—he could put up with anything along the way: Cross, shame, whatever..."
The race I thought I'd be running in Dar es Salaam involved forming deep relationships with Tanzanians, becoming proficient in Swahili and leading people to Jesus. It included doing great acts of service to bring about meaningful change, lifting people out of poverty.
It did not include becoming beat down by the heat, power outages, and sickness. It did not include moments of aching loneliness, of cross-cultural awkwardness, of fractured family relationships, of tension and strain, of many, many times of wanting to quit. Many times, unlike Jesus, I lost sight of where I was headed.
My race has not always been easy or fun, but as I leave Tanzania, may I say along with Paul that "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." (2 Timothy 4:7).
Tuesday, May 12, 2015
The Long Goodbye Season
Seven weeks from today, our family will be leaving Tanzania, which means that we will have to say goodbye to all the people, places and things that have brought great meaning to our lives over the past two years. That's really difficult. What's even harder is the fact that between now and then, almost every one of our closest friends will be leaving ahead of us...meaning that we won't say "goodbye" just one time. We will need to say it more like twenty times.
Summer (or actually it is called "long break" for those of us with opposite seasons) is prime time for teacher missionary travel. Almost every one of the people we love will be traveling home on a short-term basis, and although they will be returning for the next school year, we will not.
This long season of goodbyes made its debut a couple of weeks ago as new friends Brooklyn and Jonathan returned to the U.S. to have a baby. It continued on this past week as a family very dear to us - the Pickels - left for Canada. On and on this season will continue through the following weeks, increasing in magnitude once school ends (June 18) until we ourselves head off to the airport on June 30. In fact, Tim and I have joked to each other that by the time we leave, we may just be waving goodbye to the empty Hill around us (don't worry, Kappers - we are thankful that you'll still be around).
.JPG)
Does this long, drawn-out process make things easier or more difficult? To me, it feels like the process of removing a Band-Aid. Although ripping it off in one quick motion is more painful at the time, it's also over much faster. If that's a correct analogy, I fear that we're in for a lengthy season of pain.
However, can we actually experience the pain of twenty good-byes or will we begin to become callous in this process because it hurts too much otherwise? It wasn't too hard for me to leave the U.S. because I always believed I'd return to NJ. Although I know that things have changed and I have changed, we'll be heading back to a structural set-up that is pretty close to what we left two years ago. However, I already know that I'll never return to this particular set-up...ever. Even if God calls us back to HOPAC, the community is so transient that it will look almost completely different in just a few years from now. So saying goodbye here is for real.
.JPG)
I worry that I won't be able to walk my kids through their own emotions because I am busy processing my own responses to transition. I worry that I won't be able to give my full attention to their grief because I am thinking about 1,000 move logistics details in my head while they are pouring out their souls to me.
I already know that we have different grieving styles in our family and I worry that we will not be able to extend grace to each other in these differences. "Pre-grievers" mourn the loss before they leave; post-grievers don't express sadness until after the transition has happened. I already know that I'm a pretty strong post-griever and at least one of my children is a pre-griever. Neither are "right" or "wrong," but they are very, very different. For an excellent article summarizing this, click here
I worry that we will be quickly forgotten and also that we will forget quickly.
I worry that I didn't soak up enough of this life while I had it. There were days - many days - that felt like they were unending (including yesterday) but overall, it has gone so, so fast.
I can still remember with perfect clarity those first few days of confusion and chaos. I look back and marvel at the clueless woman that stumbled her way into Tanzania, and then I marvel at how God has been present all along. I know that He'll be present in this long season of goodbyes, also.
Summer (or actually it is called "long break" for those of us with opposite seasons) is prime time for teacher missionary travel. Almost every one of the people we love will be traveling home on a short-term basis, and although they will be returning for the next school year, we will not.
This long season of goodbyes made its debut a couple of weeks ago as new friends Brooklyn and Jonathan returned to the U.S. to have a baby. It continued on this past week as a family very dear to us - the Pickels - left for Canada. On and on this season will continue through the following weeks, increasing in magnitude once school ends (June 18) until we ourselves head off to the airport on June 30. In fact, Tim and I have joked to each other that by the time we leave, we may just be waving goodbye to the empty Hill around us (don't worry, Kappers - we are thankful that you'll still be around).
.JPG)
Does this long, drawn-out process make things easier or more difficult? To me, it feels like the process of removing a Band-Aid. Although ripping it off in one quick motion is more painful at the time, it's also over much faster. If that's a correct analogy, I fear that we're in for a lengthy season of pain.
However, can we actually experience the pain of twenty good-byes or will we begin to become callous in this process because it hurts too much otherwise? It wasn't too hard for me to leave the U.S. because I always believed I'd return to NJ. Although I know that things have changed and I have changed, we'll be heading back to a structural set-up that is pretty close to what we left two years ago. However, I already know that I'll never return to this particular set-up...ever. Even if God calls us back to HOPAC, the community is so transient that it will look almost completely different in just a few years from now. So saying goodbye here is for real.
.JPG)
I worry that I won't be able to walk my kids through their own emotions because I am busy processing my own responses to transition. I worry that I won't be able to give my full attention to their grief because I am thinking about 1,000 move logistics details in my head while they are pouring out their souls to me.
I already know that we have different grieving styles in our family and I worry that we will not be able to extend grace to each other in these differences. "Pre-grievers" mourn the loss before they leave; post-grievers don't express sadness until after the transition has happened. I already know that I'm a pretty strong post-griever and at least one of my children is a pre-griever. Neither are "right" or "wrong," but they are very, very different. For an excellent article summarizing this, click here
I worry that we will be quickly forgotten and also that we will forget quickly.
I worry that I didn't soak up enough of this life while I had it. There were days - many days - that felt like they were unending (including yesterday) but overall, it has gone so, so fast.
I can still remember with perfect clarity those first few days of confusion and chaos. I look back and marvel at the clueless woman that stumbled her way into Tanzania, and then I marvel at how God has been present all along. I know that He'll be present in this long season of goodbyes, also.
Monday, May 11, 2015
Just One of those Days....
Deep down, I knew that a day that included a sick kid, a sick dog and a sick self, (not to mention pouring rain and mud) would make for a challenging set of circumstances. I wasn't wrong.
We all get those days, regardless of where we live, but I feel like these no good, very bad days come more often and are more demoralizing here than they would be in the bubble of comfort I used to call home. As a friend and I were discussing just last week, the margin between a great day and a day which is an epic fail is very narrow here.
Even after being here for almost 2 years, I still struggle with cross-cultural living. I still feel like a fat, ignorant, clueless and insensitive mzungu (foreigner). One reason for this is that I'm reminded that I'm a foreigner every day by the people around me, sometimes multiple times, just in case I forget. Some days I'm able to laugh it off. Other days, like today, I can't.
Today's installment of The Idiot Mzungu:
* When I moved here, I knew that there was such a thing as Tanzanian time. I knew that people were not digital-watch-punctual and that being on time just doesn't happen. What I didn't realize was that not only are people frequently late...they are also frequently early. It's still the same concept: time is not important in this culture. But it really messes with me when someone is an hour and a half early for an appointment. And of course, there's no apology for this - it is what it is. How in the world can you plan your day when someone could easily be two hours early or late? My type-A planning self cannot handle this.
* No matter how many Swahili words I know, I'm still not going to know what in the world people are saying. I know the word for "flour" (unga) and I know the word for "soap" (sabuni) but never in the world would I think that unga ya sabuni is an actual thing until our gardener is standing in front of me, asking for it. I stand there, frozen like a deer in head lights. Does he mean flour and soap? Soap flour? What is soap flour? He stands there, pity in his eyes for the ignorant mzungu. Finally, by process of elimination, I determine that he actually wants soap powder. This mirrored a painful conversation that I had with the woman who cooks for me several weeks ago. I knew the words for "oil" and "water" but had no idea that vegetable oil is actually referred to as oil water.
* I'm never, ever going to get the indirectness of this culture. If you want something, ask for it! If you are sick and you need money for the doctor, please just tell me. I'm happy to help. I'm clueless enough trying to read Western non-verbal communication. If you're expecting me to understand that when you say some vague words and gestures, you are really asking me for help, it's just not happening. On the opposite extreme, I'm continually taken aback at how total strangers can be super direct, as in the case recently where the guy I buy my groceries from told me that I should give him a present of a football before I move back to America. Um, why exactly should I do this? Oh, right - it's because I'm a super rich American that can just shower Tanzanians with gifts at every opportunity. My bad.
* There are so many other things I could go into: the tiny nature of shopping carts, meaning I either buy for only a day or two or look like the giant, ridiculous consumer that I am (today they needed to call up some extra help when the mzungu and her overflowing cart of groceries - big order! came through), the recent experience I had in the mall when I received a marriage proposal from a Masai that I had never met before, the frequency of strangers coming up to me and touching me and starting up conversations. I seriously feel like a zoo animal sometimes. (On a side note, a friend was telling me how when her friend lived in India, her kids would be photographed every single time they were out....thankfully it's not that bad!)
Tomorrow is a new day, one in which I will have new reserves of patience, humility, grace, and love for my host culture (or maybe the day after tomorrow). And one day, I'll look back on all these experiences that have grown me and shaped me and realize that they were preparing me for something in the future that I can't even imagine right now. Truly, none of these no good, very bad days is wasted.
If nothing else, I'm comic relief for hundreds of people in Dar es Salaam....
We all get those days, regardless of where we live, but I feel like these no good, very bad days come more often and are more demoralizing here than they would be in the bubble of comfort I used to call home. As a friend and I were discussing just last week, the margin between a great day and a day which is an epic fail is very narrow here.
Even after being here for almost 2 years, I still struggle with cross-cultural living. I still feel like a fat, ignorant, clueless and insensitive mzungu (foreigner). One reason for this is that I'm reminded that I'm a foreigner every day by the people around me, sometimes multiple times, just in case I forget. Some days I'm able to laugh it off. Other days, like today, I can't.
Today's installment of The Idiot Mzungu:
* When I moved here, I knew that there was such a thing as Tanzanian time. I knew that people were not digital-watch-punctual and that being on time just doesn't happen. What I didn't realize was that not only are people frequently late...they are also frequently early. It's still the same concept: time is not important in this culture. But it really messes with me when someone is an hour and a half early for an appointment. And of course, there's no apology for this - it is what it is. How in the world can you plan your day when someone could easily be two hours early or late? My type-A planning self cannot handle this.
* No matter how many Swahili words I know, I'm still not going to know what in the world people are saying. I know the word for "flour" (unga) and I know the word for "soap" (sabuni) but never in the world would I think that unga ya sabuni is an actual thing until our gardener is standing in front of me, asking for it. I stand there, frozen like a deer in head lights. Does he mean flour and soap? Soap flour? What is soap flour? He stands there, pity in his eyes for the ignorant mzungu. Finally, by process of elimination, I determine that he actually wants soap powder. This mirrored a painful conversation that I had with the woman who cooks for me several weeks ago. I knew the words for "oil" and "water" but had no idea that vegetable oil is actually referred to as oil water.
* I'm never, ever going to get the indirectness of this culture. If you want something, ask for it! If you are sick and you need money for the doctor, please just tell me. I'm happy to help. I'm clueless enough trying to read Western non-verbal communication. If you're expecting me to understand that when you say some vague words and gestures, you are really asking me for help, it's just not happening. On the opposite extreme, I'm continually taken aback at how total strangers can be super direct, as in the case recently where the guy I buy my groceries from told me that I should give him a present of a football before I move back to America. Um, why exactly should I do this? Oh, right - it's because I'm a super rich American that can just shower Tanzanians with gifts at every opportunity. My bad.
* There are so many other things I could go into: the tiny nature of shopping carts, meaning I either buy for only a day or two or look like the giant, ridiculous consumer that I am (today they needed to call up some extra help when the mzungu and her overflowing cart of groceries - big order! came through), the recent experience I had in the mall when I received a marriage proposal from a Masai that I had never met before, the frequency of strangers coming up to me and touching me and starting up conversations. I seriously feel like a zoo animal sometimes. (On a side note, a friend was telling me how when her friend lived in India, her kids would be photographed every single time they were out....thankfully it's not that bad!)
Tomorrow is a new day, one in which I will have new reserves of patience, humility, grace, and love for my host culture (or maybe the day after tomorrow). And one day, I'll look back on all these experiences that have grown me and shaped me and realize that they were preparing me for something in the future that I can't even imagine right now. Truly, none of these no good, very bad days is wasted.
If nothing else, I'm comic relief for hundreds of people in Dar es Salaam....
Monday, April 13, 2015
Duka Adventures
Last week, I decided to get some vegetables at the local duka (roadside stand). My list included: tomatoes, carrots, onions, peppers and bananas.
I usually visit a more Western-style store, called Mbezi Fresh, for my produce even though shopping at the duka is quite a bit cheaper. This, my favorite grocery store in Dar, was new at the end of the last school year. It appeals to me because it has a wide variety of choices, contains produce and dry goods in one spot (almost unheard-of here), requires less need for Swahili and, because the store is completely inside and in a more climate-controlled environment, I do find the quality better and that the veggies last longer in the fridge (longer=days instead of hours).
It is funny to me how much I love Mbezi Fresh because it's still a Tanzanian store with assorted challenges. By U.S. standards, it is tiny (NJ friends, it's probably half the size of Food Basics, if even). The power frequently goes out, which means that the clerks sometimes end up writing receipts by hand (which takes forever). Certain items stop selling at random, then re-appear. I have tried to train my children not to become dependent on a specific brand of anything! A lot of the time, they don't have proper change. The baggers are never sure what to do with the fact that I bring my own cloth bags. Nonetheless, I love Mbezi Fresh.
But Mbezi isn't super close to our house and requires a certain level of fearlessness in its small and chaotic parking lot (particularly in the rain), so I decided to stay local on that day. From past experience, I knew that it was unlikely that one spot would have everything on my list, but I also knew that there were 3 vegetable stands on my chosen path.
Duka #1: Hamna shida (no problems) on the tomatoes, and it was a good price. I'm never sure exactly what the cost per pound or kilogram is at the duka, because they sell them in a "sado" (which is a small, white plastic bucket that used to contain Sadolin paint...I'm choosing not to dwell on this possibility of lead poisoning for too long). I would estimate that it's around 5 pounds or so, for about $4 U.S. Depending on your shopkeeper and how friendly they are, they generally make the Sado overflowing (and they are usually pretty scrupulous about sorting through and giving you only good tomatoes). All tomatoes here are "Roma" and one of the best parts about living here are their year-round availability.
I was happy with my tomato purchase - first try! - but unfortunately, there were no carrots, onions, peppers or bananas at this duka.
Duka #2: The pepper and carrot situation was bleak at this location, and although I would have liked to purchase more, I only managed to get 2 carrots and 4 peppers. Unfortunately, the price for the carrots was significantly higher than usual. Generally it is around 250-300 shillings per carrot. That day, it was 500 shillings...and these carrots were not particularly large. I tried to negotiate in Swahili, expressing outrage over the price and asking why it was so high. His matter-of-fact response: Bei panda. Prices climbed.
To keep things in perspective, a 500 shilling carrot is only around 25 cents at the current exchange rate, and the difference between 250 and 500 shillings is less than 15 cents. We're not talking break-the-bank levels. However, the issue is not the price itself, but I absolutely hate feeling like I'm being taken advantage of. Have prices, in fact, climbed, or does he see a white person and assume that I can pay? That's another point in Mbezi Fresh's favor: the price is the price, foreigners or Tanzanians.
Although I probably should have just walked away, I am still set in my Western ways where efficiency is king, I needed the carrots and he knew it. I sucked it up and paid the 1000 shillings. I will add that the carrots here are really good and fresh. I do miss pre-peeled, pre-cut "baby" carrots because it's a lot more work to peel and chop your own, but they are light years tastier here.
The other reason I decided to buy them is because I've learned an important lesson here: if you see it and you need it, BUY IT. It's never going to get cheaper or easier than right then and I have never regretted this philosophy, despite being a less-decisive shopper in the West.
Unfortunately, Duka #2 didn't have bananas or onions.
Duka #3: had apparently not received a lot of inventory since my last trek to this area. There were a couple of extremely over-ripe bananas hanging on a string and some rotting tomatoes. Even from the street, I could tell this was not going to happen, and I didn't even stop.
Final result: 60% of the items on my list and feeling ripped off. Back to Mbezi Fresh!!
I usually visit a more Western-style store, called Mbezi Fresh, for my produce even though shopping at the duka is quite a bit cheaper. This, my favorite grocery store in Dar, was new at the end of the last school year. It appeals to me because it has a wide variety of choices, contains produce and dry goods in one spot (almost unheard-of here), requires less need for Swahili and, because the store is completely inside and in a more climate-controlled environment, I do find the quality better and that the veggies last longer in the fridge (longer=days instead of hours).
It is funny to me how much I love Mbezi Fresh because it's still a Tanzanian store with assorted challenges. By U.S. standards, it is tiny (NJ friends, it's probably half the size of Food Basics, if even). The power frequently goes out, which means that the clerks sometimes end up writing receipts by hand (which takes forever). Certain items stop selling at random, then re-appear. I have tried to train my children not to become dependent on a specific brand of anything! A lot of the time, they don't have proper change. The baggers are never sure what to do with the fact that I bring my own cloth bags. Nonetheless, I love Mbezi Fresh.
But Mbezi isn't super close to our house and requires a certain level of fearlessness in its small and chaotic parking lot (particularly in the rain), so I decided to stay local on that day. From past experience, I knew that it was unlikely that one spot would have everything on my list, but I also knew that there were 3 vegetable stands on my chosen path.
Duka #1: Hamna shida (no problems) on the tomatoes, and it was a good price. I'm never sure exactly what the cost per pound or kilogram is at the duka, because they sell them in a "sado" (which is a small, white plastic bucket that used to contain Sadolin paint...I'm choosing not to dwell on this possibility of lead poisoning for too long). I would estimate that it's around 5 pounds or so, for about $4 U.S. Depending on your shopkeeper and how friendly they are, they generally make the Sado overflowing (and they are usually pretty scrupulous about sorting through and giving you only good tomatoes). All tomatoes here are "Roma" and one of the best parts about living here are their year-round availability.
I was happy with my tomato purchase - first try! - but unfortunately, there were no carrots, onions, peppers or bananas at this duka.
Duka #2: The pepper and carrot situation was bleak at this location, and although I would have liked to purchase more, I only managed to get 2 carrots and 4 peppers. Unfortunately, the price for the carrots was significantly higher than usual. Generally it is around 250-300 shillings per carrot. That day, it was 500 shillings...and these carrots were not particularly large. I tried to negotiate in Swahili, expressing outrage over the price and asking why it was so high. His matter-of-fact response: Bei panda. Prices climbed.
To keep things in perspective, a 500 shilling carrot is only around 25 cents at the current exchange rate, and the difference between 250 and 500 shillings is less than 15 cents. We're not talking break-the-bank levels. However, the issue is not the price itself, but I absolutely hate feeling like I'm being taken advantage of. Have prices, in fact, climbed, or does he see a white person and assume that I can pay? That's another point in Mbezi Fresh's favor: the price is the price, foreigners or Tanzanians.
Although I probably should have just walked away, I am still set in my Western ways where efficiency is king, I needed the carrots and he knew it. I sucked it up and paid the 1000 shillings. I will add that the carrots here are really good and fresh. I do miss pre-peeled, pre-cut "baby" carrots because it's a lot more work to peel and chop your own, but they are light years tastier here.
The other reason I decided to buy them is because I've learned an important lesson here: if you see it and you need it, BUY IT. It's never going to get cheaper or easier than right then and I have never regretted this philosophy, despite being a less-decisive shopper in the West.
Unfortunately, Duka #2 didn't have bananas or onions.
Duka #3: had apparently not received a lot of inventory since my last trek to this area. There were a couple of extremely over-ripe bananas hanging on a string and some rotting tomatoes. Even from the street, I could tell this was not going to happen, and I didn't even stop.
Final result: 60% of the items on my list and feeling ripped off. Back to Mbezi Fresh!!
Friday, April 10, 2015
Terror
From Dictionary.com: "Terror
(noun): 1) intense, sharp, overmastering fear: to be frantic with terror....2)
an instance or cause of intense fear or anxiety; quality of causing
terror...4) violence or threats of violence used for intimidation or
coercion;terrorism.”
In the wake of Al-Shabaabs's attack last week on Garissa University in Kenya, there has been a WhatsApp message circulating around Dar that reads:
"This is a very serious warning from UNDP Dar! Beware on Friday [April 10] suspected Somalian terrorist attacks in Dar, Mwanza, Arusha and Mbeya. Try to avoid public gathering places on that day, especially hotels. UN Security warning. Please take extra care and avoid public gathering places. Forward this message to all your friends."HOPAC has been checking directly with the United Nations, the U.S. embassy, the British High Commission and other sources and all research shows that this is a completely false report. Nonetheless, despite being totally unverified, this message spread like wildfire throughout the community this week and many students said they would not be attending school today.
From a logical, rational perspective, I know that these rumors are just rumors. Anyone can anonymously post up a wild and crazy theory and I can't imagine that Al-Shabaab would gain anything by starting a conflict with another country (or in the case of an attack on an international school, many countries).
But terror does not operate in a climate of logical or rational behavior and our kids in particular have been very affected by this. They begged to stay home from school this morning and Tim and I have spent most of the last 2 evenings at home trying to calm their fears. It's times like these that I realize that I have no idea what I'm doing as a parent. I can say all the "right" things and commit it all to prayer, but when they say things like, "A responsible parent wouldn't send their child to school...it's not worth the risk" or "I just want to grow up and go to college, get married and have kids," that's when the cold fear of terror hits me. Are we making the right decisions? What if?
How much do you expose your kids to the news versus sheltering them from it? When they ask, "Do they kill people because they are Christians?" do you answer honestly? When they question, "Are there terrorists in Tanzania?" how do you respond?
Hearing the brutal truth: "Yes, terrorists are everywhere! They are godless and soulless and can attack at anytime. Islamic fundamentalists do hate Christians. We are all unsafe: anytime, anywhere!" and living in a grip of fear is more terrifying than anything the actual terrorists can do. The other truth: "Put your trust in God alone - He will shelter you under His wings...If anything happens and we are killed, we're going to a better place!" often rings hollow.
Nonetheless, today, instead of focusing on Al-Shabaab (the youth), I'm choosing to meditate on El-Shaddai (God Almighty). I read Psalm 46 to the kids before school this morning and I was struck again by its message of comfort.
"God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble." (verse 1) We don't need to be strong because He is the refuge.
"Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall. He lifts his voice, the earth melts" (verse 6).
God is not surprised by any of this. In fact, He promised that Christians would be persecuted for their faith.
"He makes wars cease to the ends of the earth; he breaks the bow and shatters the spear." (verse 9).
God is more powerful than any terrorist group or nation. They all exist only by His will.
"Be still and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth." (verse 10).
God has this all under control and whatever happens, we know that He will be glorified.
It is good for me to be reminded to "be still." I am honestly less afraid at what will happen today as I am angry that our family has been in turmoil for 2 days over this. A handful of terrorists have the ability to literally paralyze my children with fear and I can't protect their minds, let alone their bodies. But God can.
Please join me in praying specifically for East Africa today, and for protection for Christians around the world.
"The Lord Almighty is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress." (verse 11)
Thursday, April 2, 2015
Waiting
The last time I posted about decision-making: will we stay? will we go? it was in late November
Although we made the decision in early January that we'll be moving back to the U.S., we intentionally haven't said anything publicly. We wanted everything to fall into place so that we could trumpet to the world: We're going back to New Jersey, at this time, to do this specific thing and execute this specific plan! However, things are still not finalized and we're not sure when they will be. Although returning to the U.S. does not feel nearly as exciting as heading to Africa, it is still a big leap of faith (and a lesson in patience). We feel called to go back, although we're not sure how this will happen.
We've been in a very weird limbo for the past 3 months, keeping the news public but quiet, and we have really lapsed in our communication to the outside world because of it. (Maybe because if we don't talk about it, it's not happening!) However, the longer we go on, the harder it is to pretend that we're not facing another big life change. More and more people know we're leaving and things are rolling on without us. We have people asking us if we're selling our stuff. Just this morning, we had a family looking through our house and hoping to rent it. I'm eyeing things with the intent to use them up before leaving. Do I need to buy another jar of rosemary?
Yet we haven't yet fully committed to NJ living either. Our kids aren't enrolled in school anywhere right now, neither of us has jobs, and we don't know exactly what date we'll be moving back into our house. When we look to the future, there are many unanswered questions.
This we do know: our contract with World Missions and HOPAC ends on June 30, and we have plane tickets home, arriving on July 22 at JFK airport. Beyond that, we have wishes and hopes and dreams but not a lot of concrete anything. For a recovering Type-A planning-loving perfectionist, this waiting is hard.
This we also know: it is going to be really hard to leave. We have made lots of friends and this place has felt like home in many ways. Change is always harder than status quo. Life is definitely more complicated, busier and more expensive in the U.S.
This we also know: it would be really hard to stay long-term. Neither one of us feels like support-raising is a particular strength and it's getting harder and harder each month. Every time the kids are sick, my anxiety ratchets up. Our car is not reliable and would require a major investment. Looming ahead in just another 2 years are the Cambridge exams beginning for the kids. Living here is difficult and day in, day out, it takes its toll. I have so much respect for the people who grind it out here for years.
So, we wait. And try to live each day in the moment, trusting that it's all going to work out.
(this was a photo that was going around Facebook recently...this particular one is from the blog Just a Girl Who Loves).
Although we made the decision in early January that we'll be moving back to the U.S., we intentionally haven't said anything publicly. We wanted everything to fall into place so that we could trumpet to the world: We're going back to New Jersey, at this time, to do this specific thing and execute this specific plan! However, things are still not finalized and we're not sure when they will be. Although returning to the U.S. does not feel nearly as exciting as heading to Africa, it is still a big leap of faith (and a lesson in patience). We feel called to go back, although we're not sure how this will happen.
We've been in a very weird limbo for the past 3 months, keeping the news public but quiet, and we have really lapsed in our communication to the outside world because of it. (Maybe because if we don't talk about it, it's not happening!) However, the longer we go on, the harder it is to pretend that we're not facing another big life change. More and more people know we're leaving and things are rolling on without us. We have people asking us if we're selling our stuff. Just this morning, we had a family looking through our house and hoping to rent it. I'm eyeing things with the intent to use them up before leaving. Do I need to buy another jar of rosemary?
Yet we haven't yet fully committed to NJ living either. Our kids aren't enrolled in school anywhere right now, neither of us has jobs, and we don't know exactly what date we'll be moving back into our house. When we look to the future, there are many unanswered questions.
This we do know: our contract with World Missions and HOPAC ends on June 30, and we have plane tickets home, arriving on July 22 at JFK airport. Beyond that, we have wishes and hopes and dreams but not a lot of concrete anything. For a recovering Type-A planning-loving perfectionist, this waiting is hard.
This we also know: it is going to be really hard to leave. We have made lots of friends and this place has felt like home in many ways. Change is always harder than status quo. Life is definitely more complicated, busier and more expensive in the U.S.
This we also know: it would be really hard to stay long-term. Neither one of us feels like support-raising is a particular strength and it's getting harder and harder each month. Every time the kids are sick, my anxiety ratchets up. Our car is not reliable and would require a major investment. Looming ahead in just another 2 years are the Cambridge exams beginning for the kids. Living here is difficult and day in, day out, it takes its toll. I have so much respect for the people who grind it out here for years.
So, we wait. And try to live each day in the moment, trusting that it's all going to work out.
(this was a photo that was going around Facebook recently...this particular one is from the blog Just a Girl Who Loves).
Thursday, March 26, 2015
Enough
One thing that has surprised me about my time in Africa is how much I have struggled with contentment. In my very first month here I blogged about these feelings of dissatisfaction (you can read about them here) and although I've made some strides since then, I still struggle with feeling that I have enough. Enough missionary support, enough food in the house, enough wearable clothes, enough activities to give my life meaning and purpose, enough time and attention to give my children.
The reality is that I'll never feel like I have enough, even though I actually do (especially in comparison to most people around me).
I need to learn afresh that we are to pray for daily bread. Not weekly bread, monthly bread, or (as I'd prefer) a lifetime supply of bread.
I can't remember where I read this, but it said something to the effect of: how can you truly ask God, "Give us this day our daily bread" when you have a month of food stocked in your pantry? The Lord's Prayer is a prayer of dependence upon God, and when things are easy, we feel like we are providing for our needs in our own strength,
The beauty and the frustration about living here is that it is a lot easier to rely on God for provision as I am reminded again and again of my dependence on Him. It's harder to buy things and it's difficult to stock up. Many times the store will not have exactly what I want, or as much of it as I want, or the ATM won't have money, or the car won't work, or the gas station won't have gas, or we'll lose power and I'll be anxious about the extra chicken I have unexpectedly defrosting in the freezer.
Although my goal is always to plan ahead, it doesn't usually happen. However, over the last few weeks, I have been reminded time and time again that God is providing enough. Even when it's not as much as I want, it's enough. Here are a few examples:
I needed to make play-dough for the kids in the quarry but I was low on salt (there is an insane amount of salt in homemade play-dough!) My car was broken and although a friend went to two separate places to buy salt for me, neither one had any (!) In desperation, I just decided to make due with the amount I had and see what happened. To my great surprise, I had exactly the half cup that was needed. Enough.
In preparing for our 2014 taxes, I added up our rental income and subtracted our mortgage, taxes, unexpected repairs and other expenses. How much did we net this year? $8.80. Enough.
I went to buy Vodacom vouchers, which is how we fund our internet . Although I had hoped to stock up for a couple of weeks, they only had the amount we needed for one week. But it was enough.
Our car has been a problem since, literally, the first day we owned it. It has cost us endless repair charges, frustration and stress and has driven me to the depths of despair (pun intended). But it has only actually broken down one time on the road (and that was really close to home and was a quick solution). It has safely seen us through the last year and a half, including 4 trips that were pretty far outside of Dar, and most recently, 2 trips across town to the clinic in the pouring rain. Enough.
Raising missionary support has been more challenging this year, but every month, we're getting by. There will be an unexpected offering from a church, a new one-time donor, a drop in our expenses. Enough.
Praying this Scripture again today:
Hebrews 13:5: Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said, "Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you."
He is enough.
The reality is that I'll never feel like I have enough, even though I actually do (especially in comparison to most people around me).
I need to learn afresh that we are to pray for daily bread. Not weekly bread, monthly bread, or (as I'd prefer) a lifetime supply of bread.
I can't remember where I read this, but it said something to the effect of: how can you truly ask God, "Give us this day our daily bread" when you have a month of food stocked in your pantry? The Lord's Prayer is a prayer of dependence upon God, and when things are easy, we feel like we are providing for our needs in our own strength,
The beauty and the frustration about living here is that it is a lot easier to rely on God for provision as I am reminded again and again of my dependence on Him. It's harder to buy things and it's difficult to stock up. Many times the store will not have exactly what I want, or as much of it as I want, or the ATM won't have money, or the car won't work, or the gas station won't have gas, or we'll lose power and I'll be anxious about the extra chicken I have unexpectedly defrosting in the freezer.
Although my goal is always to plan ahead, it doesn't usually happen. However, over the last few weeks, I have been reminded time and time again that God is providing enough. Even when it's not as much as I want, it's enough. Here are a few examples:
I needed to make play-dough for the kids in the quarry but I was low on salt (there is an insane amount of salt in homemade play-dough!) My car was broken and although a friend went to two separate places to buy salt for me, neither one had any (!) In desperation, I just decided to make due with the amount I had and see what happened. To my great surprise, I had exactly the half cup that was needed. Enough.
In preparing for our 2014 taxes, I added up our rental income and subtracted our mortgage, taxes, unexpected repairs and other expenses. How much did we net this year? $8.80. Enough.
I went to buy Vodacom vouchers, which is how we fund our internet . Although I had hoped to stock up for a couple of weeks, they only had the amount we needed for one week. But it was enough.
Our car has been a problem since, literally, the first day we owned it. It has cost us endless repair charges, frustration and stress and has driven me to the depths of despair (pun intended). But it has only actually broken down one time on the road (and that was really close to home and was a quick solution). It has safely seen us through the last year and a half, including 4 trips that were pretty far outside of Dar, and most recently, 2 trips across town to the clinic in the pouring rain. Enough.
Raising missionary support has been more challenging this year, but every month, we're getting by. There will be an unexpected offering from a church, a new one-time donor, a drop in our expenses. Enough.
Praying this Scripture again today:
Hebrews 13:5: Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said, "Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you."
He is enough.
Monday, March 16, 2015
Blooming in the Dry Season
Last year, the Tanzanians tell me that we had an atypical summer. We never went a really long time without some kind of rain, and it had already significantly cooled off by this point in the calendar. Long-term HOPACers told me, "You don't know how lucky you are to have this as your first summer here."
Although I was still sweating profusely last year, I can see that apparently they were right. This year has been incredibly hot - over 90 degrees (plus humidity) every day for over a month straight. And it has been unbelievably dry. I can't remember much rain at all since early January besides maybe a couple of two-minute sprinkles.
Everyone is looking forward to this rainy season with anticipation, knowing in the back of our minds that it is going to bring new challenges of flooding and mosquitoes.
But there is one plant that is extremely happy in this hot, dry season: the bougainvillea (I can spell it, but don't ask me to say it!) According to Wikipedia, "bougainvilleas grow best in dry soil in very bright full sun...and in fact will not flourish if over-watered."
Everything around it is lifeless, yet it blooms with amazing beauty.
I think there's a lesson in there about thriving despite challenges. Are we going to be the kind of people who are snuffed out by the tough circumstances of life, or are we going to flower in the midst of hardship? Will the hard times cause us to dig down deep to blossom or will we wither on the vine?
Personally, I feel that this hot season has caused me to wither. But I know that the difference between withering and flourishing is the ability to thrive despite our circumstances. The only way to do this is to stay connected to the Vine (John 15:5).
"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all." (2 Corinthians 4:16-17)
Although I was still sweating profusely last year, I can see that apparently they were right. This year has been incredibly hot - over 90 degrees (plus humidity) every day for over a month straight. And it has been unbelievably dry. I can't remember much rain at all since early January besides maybe a couple of two-minute sprinkles.
Everyone is looking forward to this rainy season with anticipation, knowing in the back of our minds that it is going to bring new challenges of flooding and mosquitoes.
But there is one plant that is extremely happy in this hot, dry season: the bougainvillea (I can spell it, but don't ask me to say it!) According to Wikipedia, "bougainvilleas grow best in dry soil in very bright full sun...and in fact will not flourish if over-watered."
Everything around it is lifeless, yet it blooms with amazing beauty.
I think there's a lesson in there about thriving despite challenges. Are we going to be the kind of people who are snuffed out by the tough circumstances of life, or are we going to flower in the midst of hardship? Will the hard times cause us to dig down deep to blossom or will we wither on the vine?
Personally, I feel that this hot season has caused me to wither. But I know that the difference between withering and flourishing is the ability to thrive despite our circumstances. The only way to do this is to stay connected to the Vine (John 15:5).
"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all." (2 Corinthians 4:16-17)
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
Ants!
I've always had an appreciation for ants. They are super hard-working, great team players, and they really know how to get the job done. They make impressive structures in just a short amount of time and really have a lot to show for their days.
The book of Proverbs even has two favorable mentions of ants, including one of my favorite sayings: "Go to the ant, you sluggard!" (Proverbs 6:6). In the Aesop's Fable about the ant and the grasshopper, we are all encouraged to be more like the ant who plans ahead for the winter and isn't afraid to work hard.
Nonetheless, these days, I am feeling less favorably disposed to this industrious insect. We are under a veritable explosion of ants, both inside and outside our house. Thankfully, the ants in question are tiny but they are everywhere and there are so many of them!
Every morning, I fill the dog's food and water bowls outside and there are literally thousands surrounding the bowls. I then return to the breakfast table inside and there are thousands more swarming the toast crumbs and jam splotches that have been there all of 10 minutes. Last night, Charlotte dropped a forkful of rice under her chair and it looked like a small party of mountain-climbing ants.
The ants make huge ant highways to transport crumbs - across the table, down the floor, up the wall. I really wish I could get a better picture or a video of this, because despite the fact that I'm repulsed by them, I'm still impressed.
Unlike the U.S. ants I've experienced, I feel that these ants seem to prefer carbs rather than sticky stuff. They always come out for bread products, including a memorable day when they were transporting a cube of stuffing up the wall.
This is our weapon against the battle of the ants: DOOM (best name for an insect killer ever!) Disclaimer: it's not "odourlous." It has a sickly sweet, cloying smell....but it does spell instantaneous DOOM for the hapless ants.
My friend Gretchen said a couple of months ago "You know, back in the U.S., when you think there's a bug on you and it's usually just a fuzz or a hair? Here it's always a bug!" Usually it's an ant.
I did make the happy discovery that putting a few cloves of garlic in the sugar does get rid of ants. There were hundreds of ants in my sugar (despite it being in an "air-tight" Tupperware container from the U.S.) While I don't necessarily care about picking out the ants before baking, it was a huge gross-out factor for my kids when they went to make Kool-Aid. Instead of throwing out the whole 2 kilos of sugar, I decided to try the helpful hint that was included in my HOPAC cookbook. I was definitely skeptical. At first, it looked like the ants were just going on another mountain-climbing expedition - this time on the garlic cloves. But then, miraculously, they vanished...and they haven't returned! I was also worried that the garlic may permeate the taste of the sugar, but I haven't noticed anything.
Although I'd much rather battle the ants than cockroaches, centipedes or mosquitoes (all have also been in our house) or certainly a tarantula (has been at school), I'd like them to leave now, please. Maybe when the rains come all my problems will go away....is it too much to ask that dust, heat, and ants all leave together? We will see.
The book of Proverbs even has two favorable mentions of ants, including one of my favorite sayings: "Go to the ant, you sluggard!" (Proverbs 6:6). In the Aesop's Fable about the ant and the grasshopper, we are all encouraged to be more like the ant who plans ahead for the winter and isn't afraid to work hard.
Nonetheless, these days, I am feeling less favorably disposed to this industrious insect. We are under a veritable explosion of ants, both inside and outside our house. Thankfully, the ants in question are tiny but they are everywhere and there are so many of them!
Every morning, I fill the dog's food and water bowls outside and there are literally thousands surrounding the bowls. I then return to the breakfast table inside and there are thousands more swarming the toast crumbs and jam splotches that have been there all of 10 minutes. Last night, Charlotte dropped a forkful of rice under her chair and it looked like a small party of mountain-climbing ants.
The ants make huge ant highways to transport crumbs - across the table, down the floor, up the wall. I really wish I could get a better picture or a video of this, because despite the fact that I'm repulsed by them, I'm still impressed.
Unlike the U.S. ants I've experienced, I feel that these ants seem to prefer carbs rather than sticky stuff. They always come out for bread products, including a memorable day when they were transporting a cube of stuffing up the wall.
This is our weapon against the battle of the ants: DOOM (best name for an insect killer ever!) Disclaimer: it's not "odourlous." It has a sickly sweet, cloying smell....but it does spell instantaneous DOOM for the hapless ants.
My friend Gretchen said a couple of months ago "You know, back in the U.S., when you think there's a bug on you and it's usually just a fuzz or a hair? Here it's always a bug!" Usually it's an ant.
I did make the happy discovery that putting a few cloves of garlic in the sugar does get rid of ants. There were hundreds of ants in my sugar (despite it being in an "air-tight" Tupperware container from the U.S.) While I don't necessarily care about picking out the ants before baking, it was a huge gross-out factor for my kids when they went to make Kool-Aid. Instead of throwing out the whole 2 kilos of sugar, I decided to try the helpful hint that was included in my HOPAC cookbook. I was definitely skeptical. At first, it looked like the ants were just going on another mountain-climbing expedition - this time on the garlic cloves. But then, miraculously, they vanished...and they haven't returned! I was also worried that the garlic may permeate the taste of the sugar, but I haven't noticed anything.
Although I'd much rather battle the ants than cockroaches, centipedes or mosquitoes (all have also been in our house) or certainly a tarantula (has been at school), I'd like them to leave now, please. Maybe when the rains come all my problems will go away....is it too much to ask that dust, heat, and ants all leave together? We will see.
Friday, February 27, 2015
This Week in Relational Living
I'm sure I've mentioned before how relational it is here in Tanzania. Greetings are very important, and it is essential to greet everyone you meet, even the clerks at the store. There are no anonymous transactions here.
Sometimes I find this very wearying if I'm tired, in a bad mood, just want to get my milk and bread and get out of the store ASAP. But I usually force myself to smile and interact, even briefly and I know in my heart that it is how we should treat others. I've always tried to treat people - even the most humble of service workers - as people, but in my desire for efficiency or in my distractedness, I'm sure that some of my U.S. encounters still made them feel like objects. Here, it's really not possible to do this, and that's a very good thing.
This week I had 3 memorable encounters with Tanzanians in our community.
On Monday, Charlotte, Josh and I visited our local clinic as none of us were feeling well. Although the doctor was pretty sure it wasn't malaria or typhoid, it's usually just routine practice to get your blood drawn every time you go, "just in case." As he was taking our blood, our phlebotomist was chatting with us, half in English and half in Swahili. He mentioned that his name was Zakayo - "like the man in the Bible who climbed the tree." Ah...Zaccheus!! I then asked him if he knew the song about Zaccheus. He didn't, and so the 3 of us busted out into "Zaccheus Was a Wee Little Man" right there, several times, as he tried to sing along. He loved it, had me write down the words, and got my phone number so we could stay in touch, saying, "Don't just wait until you're sick - visit me here anytime!" (He's now sending me WhatsApp messages with things like, "All glory belongs to our Almighty Lord Jesus Christ!") Added bonus: it wasn't malaria or typhoid for any of us.
Yesterday I went to the Total gas station at the bottom of our hill which has a little mini mart with basic supplies. As I was standing at the counter buying luku (electricity), the manager showed me a photo, telling me that one of their employees had just died and they were collecting money for msiba (funeral). Although I never had a close relationship with this woman, I definitely recognized her and had most certainly greeted her. She had to be less than 25 years old. Cause of death? "She was sick in her stomach and chest." I gave the equivalent of about $6 and signed my name, noting that there were already 3 pages of signatures and donations, which really touched me. I hope it touches her family, too. The death of an otherwise healthy person in their 20's from sickness is shocking news in the U.S. Here, sadly, it seems to be fairly common. Most maddening to my Western sensibilities, it seems like you never really know the true cause. Most certainly, it was preventable.
Finally, I stopped at my favorite fruit stand for some bananas. I've been going there since we arrived in Tanzania, because although they are more expensive than other places, their bananas are by far the best. When my mom visited in December, I took her there to buy fruit with me and one of the young Muslim fruit sellers was absolutely taken with her. He gave her a gift of bananas on the spot and has been asking about her in Swahili ever since ("Is she well?" "Is it cold in America?" "Does it snow there?") He's also generously given me gifts of extra bananas "for the kids" every time since then. I still don't know why my mom was such a hit with him - she definitely didn't say anything to him because she doesn't know Swahili - but thanks, Mom! You've got a lifelong friend here in Dar.
These three encounters are pretty typical of life here, yet I can't imagine even one of them in the context of suburban NJ. Although some days I long for anonymity, other days I gratefully appreciate the simple beauty of relational living.
Sometimes I find this very wearying if I'm tired, in a bad mood, just want to get my milk and bread and get out of the store ASAP. But I usually force myself to smile and interact, even briefly and I know in my heart that it is how we should treat others. I've always tried to treat people - even the most humble of service workers - as people, but in my desire for efficiency or in my distractedness, I'm sure that some of my U.S. encounters still made them feel like objects. Here, it's really not possible to do this, and that's a very good thing.
This week I had 3 memorable encounters with Tanzanians in our community.
On Monday, Charlotte, Josh and I visited our local clinic as none of us were feeling well. Although the doctor was pretty sure it wasn't malaria or typhoid, it's usually just routine practice to get your blood drawn every time you go, "just in case." As he was taking our blood, our phlebotomist was chatting with us, half in English and half in Swahili. He mentioned that his name was Zakayo - "like the man in the Bible who climbed the tree." Ah...Zaccheus!! I then asked him if he knew the song about Zaccheus. He didn't, and so the 3 of us busted out into "Zaccheus Was a Wee Little Man" right there, several times, as he tried to sing along. He loved it, had me write down the words, and got my phone number so we could stay in touch, saying, "Don't just wait until you're sick - visit me here anytime!" (He's now sending me WhatsApp messages with things like, "All glory belongs to our Almighty Lord Jesus Christ!") Added bonus: it wasn't malaria or typhoid for any of us.
Yesterday I went to the Total gas station at the bottom of our hill which has a little mini mart with basic supplies. As I was standing at the counter buying luku (electricity), the manager showed me a photo, telling me that one of their employees had just died and they were collecting money for msiba (funeral). Although I never had a close relationship with this woman, I definitely recognized her and had most certainly greeted her. She had to be less than 25 years old. Cause of death? "She was sick in her stomach and chest." I gave the equivalent of about $6 and signed my name, noting that there were already 3 pages of signatures and donations, which really touched me. I hope it touches her family, too. The death of an otherwise healthy person in their 20's from sickness is shocking news in the U.S. Here, sadly, it seems to be fairly common. Most maddening to my Western sensibilities, it seems like you never really know the true cause. Most certainly, it was preventable.
Finally, I stopped at my favorite fruit stand for some bananas. I've been going there since we arrived in Tanzania, because although they are more expensive than other places, their bananas are by far the best. When my mom visited in December, I took her there to buy fruit with me and one of the young Muslim fruit sellers was absolutely taken with her. He gave her a gift of bananas on the spot and has been asking about her in Swahili ever since ("Is she well?" "Is it cold in America?" "Does it snow there?") He's also generously given me gifts of extra bananas "for the kids" every time since then. I still don't know why my mom was such a hit with him - she definitely didn't say anything to him because she doesn't know Swahili - but thanks, Mom! You've got a lifelong friend here in Dar.
These three encounters are pretty typical of life here, yet I can't imagine even one of them in the context of suburban NJ. Although some days I long for anonymity, other days I gratefully appreciate the simple beauty of relational living.
Saturday, February 21, 2015
Cold enough for ya?!
I think that weather differences between TZ and the US are probably the single most disconnecting experience for me....seeing Facebook pictures of people frolicking in the leaves there (while it's still hot here), then playing in the snow there (while it's even hotter here) and then seeing the joy of winter move into spring there (while it's still hot here although slightly less so). As opposed to there, the seasonal difference here between hot and less hot seasons is not all that much - maybe 30 degrees Fahrenheit, a few percentage points of humidity. The landscape doesn't change all that much from season to season. Although different flowers bloom at different times, there's always something blooming. And although the grass gets pretty burned up in dry season, it's certainly nothing like the absolute absence of living foliage in winter in the U.S.
This week in particular highlights this difference between our two worlds. On the East Coast, it is brutally cold and yet here the weather is causing me to melt into a puddle. A friend and I calculated that one day last week, her wind chill factor of -25 F and our heat index factor which neared 120 F meant that our weather was separated by over 140 degrees! That's really hard to wrap my brain around. As another friend said, "Are we on the same planet?" Pretty amazing.
I think that memories of extreme weather must be kept in the same place of my brain that also stores memories of childbirth pain. It's as though every year, I have a new realization of how (hot/cold/rainy) it is as I've completely forgotten about the past years and what they were like.
Because of this seasonal amnesia, I literally cannot imagine being as cold as my U.S. friends. I've totally forgotten what it means to scrape your car, catch snowflakes on your tongue, layer up, have melting snow puddles by the door, have your lungs hurt when breathing the outside air and all the side inconveniences of the season (dry skin, chapped lips, running noses) that comes at this time. In the same way, I doubt whether they can imagine how intense the equatorial sun feels as it beats down for weeks on end, the fact that your shirt sticks to you already by 9 a.m., the humidity blanketing everything, etc.
Everybody talks about the weather (although everyone complains about how lame that is). It's definitely a socializing topic as probably no one will be offended by a shared dislike of windchill. It's just this communal bond that I'm missing these days with my U.S. friends as I'm definitely not missing the actual offending weather (although a nice 60 degree day would be heavenly right about now). I joked to Tim that we haven't even experienced the temperature that we used to heat the inside of our home in the winter, for almost 2 years. Brrrr!
Stay warm, U.S. friends!
Keep cool, Dar friends!
This week in particular highlights this difference between our two worlds. On the East Coast, it is brutally cold and yet here the weather is causing me to melt into a puddle. A friend and I calculated that one day last week, her wind chill factor of -25 F and our heat index factor which neared 120 F meant that our weather was separated by over 140 degrees! That's really hard to wrap my brain around. As another friend said, "Are we on the same planet?" Pretty amazing.
I think that memories of extreme weather must be kept in the same place of my brain that also stores memories of childbirth pain. It's as though every year, I have a new realization of how (hot/cold/rainy) it is as I've completely forgotten about the past years and what they were like.
Because of this seasonal amnesia, I literally cannot imagine being as cold as my U.S. friends. I've totally forgotten what it means to scrape your car, catch snowflakes on your tongue, layer up, have melting snow puddles by the door, have your lungs hurt when breathing the outside air and all the side inconveniences of the season (dry skin, chapped lips, running noses) that comes at this time. In the same way, I doubt whether they can imagine how intense the equatorial sun feels as it beats down for weeks on end, the fact that your shirt sticks to you already by 9 a.m., the humidity blanketing everything, etc.
Everybody talks about the weather (although everyone complains about how lame that is). It's definitely a socializing topic as probably no one will be offended by a shared dislike of windchill. It's just this communal bond that I'm missing these days with my U.S. friends as I'm definitely not missing the actual offending weather (although a nice 60 degree day would be heavenly right about now). I joked to Tim that we haven't even experienced the temperature that we used to heat the inside of our home in the winter, for almost 2 years. Brrrr!
Stay warm, U.S. friends!
Keep cool, Dar friends!
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
Scenes from the road in Dar
Yesterday, we had off for midterm break and so my kids asked for playdates. Like our old school, HOPAC draws students from a great distance all around the city, and so sometimes these requests involve quite a bit of effort. Although Charlotte's friend lives within a 2 minute walk of our house, Josh's friend lives around 20 minutes away (without traffic, which is never a guarantee here!)
Thankfully, I made good time, I wasn't stopped by police, and the car didn't stall. Although it was a hot day, there was cloud cover and so I was only sweating a medium amount in our car without working AC.
As I was driving him to and from his friend's house, I was reflecting on all the unique things that I saw outside my window, trying to see them through new eyes:
* A goat drinking from a drainage ditch
* A group of about 10 men, walking purposefully against traffic, carrying tire irons and machetes (thankful for no stopped traffic at that point!)
* A police checkpoint where all the police were sleeping under a tree in the shade (as I said, it was a hot day)
* The Million Hairs hair salon
* A dump truck without a safety gate, leaking dirt and small chunks of rock as it drove. Disturbingly, the back was painted, "Born to Kill" along with pictures of Che Guevara (he is really popular here for some reason) and a Muslim fundamentalist (possibly Osama bin Laden). I kept a little distance from the back of the truck, as I didn't want it to be a self-fulfilling prophecy.
* A bus painted with the words Obama Trans. There's also another bus painted as Air Force One (which I always thought was an airplane...)
* Street cleaners - which here mean actual women brushing dirt from the streets with large brooms in the hot sun, with only a couple of flimsy traffic cones to shield them from speeding cars.
* A variety of roadside vendors including the watermelon guys who have a huge pile of melons with one cut on the top to show what the insides look like. As with many things here, there are about 4 vendors of the same thing in a row, as opposed to the diversification strategy found in the West.
* A cow grazing in a field of garbage.
* Women in brightly-colored kangas carrying unbelievable loads on their heads.
And then there are the smells:
* The roadside area that sells manure in small bags.
* The unique scent, possibly of sewage, that permeates the road called Africana.
* Thick black smoke emanating from a truck in front of me (there are no emissions laws here).
* Burning trash in piles along the road
The sounds:
* Trucks blaring music combined with religious propaganda (these are in Swahili, so I'm never fully aware of what they're saying...I hear "God" "Satan" and "hell" for sure.)
* The unique sounds of African street music (to get an idea, listen to Paul Simon's album Graceland)
* Bleating of goats as they scramble up the hillside alongside the road.
* The call to prayer as I passed a mosque.
I thought about how different this drive is compared to a 20 minute drive in the U.S. Way more stressful in a sensory-overload kind of way, yet also so many more interesting things to observe. Although I'm trying to enjoy the moment and embrace the culture, there are definitely some days where I'm nostalgic for the bland efficiency of Route 287.
Thankfully, I made good time, I wasn't stopped by police, and the car didn't stall. Although it was a hot day, there was cloud cover and so I was only sweating a medium amount in our car without working AC.
As I was driving him to and from his friend's house, I was reflecting on all the unique things that I saw outside my window, trying to see them through new eyes:
* A goat drinking from a drainage ditch
* A group of about 10 men, walking purposefully against traffic, carrying tire irons and machetes (thankful for no stopped traffic at that point!)
* A police checkpoint where all the police were sleeping under a tree in the shade (as I said, it was a hot day)
* The Million Hairs hair salon
* A dump truck without a safety gate, leaking dirt and small chunks of rock as it drove. Disturbingly, the back was painted, "Born to Kill" along with pictures of Che Guevara (he is really popular here for some reason) and a Muslim fundamentalist (possibly Osama bin Laden). I kept a little distance from the back of the truck, as I didn't want it to be a self-fulfilling prophecy.
* A bus painted with the words Obama Trans. There's also another bus painted as Air Force One (which I always thought was an airplane...)
* Street cleaners - which here mean actual women brushing dirt from the streets with large brooms in the hot sun, with only a couple of flimsy traffic cones to shield them from speeding cars.
* A variety of roadside vendors including the watermelon guys who have a huge pile of melons with one cut on the top to show what the insides look like. As with many things here, there are about 4 vendors of the same thing in a row, as opposed to the diversification strategy found in the West.
* A cow grazing in a field of garbage.
* Women in brightly-colored kangas carrying unbelievable loads on their heads.
And then there are the smells:
* The roadside area that sells manure in small bags.
* The unique scent, possibly of sewage, that permeates the road called Africana.
* Thick black smoke emanating from a truck in front of me (there are no emissions laws here).
* Burning trash in piles along the road
The sounds:
* Trucks blaring music combined with religious propaganda (these are in Swahili, so I'm never fully aware of what they're saying...I hear "God" "Satan" and "hell" for sure.)
* The unique sounds of African street music (to get an idea, listen to Paul Simon's album Graceland)
* Bleating of goats as they scramble up the hillside alongside the road.
* The call to prayer as I passed a mosque.
I thought about how different this drive is compared to a 20 minute drive in the U.S. Way more stressful in a sensory-overload kind of way, yet also so many more interesting things to observe. Although I'm trying to enjoy the moment and embrace the culture, there are definitely some days where I'm nostalgic for the bland efficiency of Route 287.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Water
For the last month or so, Dawasco, the public water utility in Tanzania, has been experiencing significant outages. The stated reason is that they need to make repairs on their system so a major pipeline has to be shut down.
Communication of the outages has been sporadic and generally transmitted by word of mouth. Sometimes, we'll get advance notice of the outages and can make sure our backup tanks are filled. Sometimes, we won't. Other times, they will say that the water will be off for 2 days and it's off for over a week. We've just come off a (largely unscheduled) 13 day outage for some parts of the city and this past weekend, Dawasco issued a statement that water will be off for another 2 weeks (which is disturbing if they are saying 2 weeks up front...how long will it actually be?!!)
Whenever this happens, 2 million+ people in the city of Dar es Salaam are without a reliable water supply. When Dawasco is cut, the options are to buy water at the store or to have a water truck come to fill up your backup tanks (The cost for the truck is around $50 for about 1300 gallons of water and like any good believer in supply-side economics, water truck companies ensure that this cost can go up during shortage times). Even Dawasco water here is significantly more costly than our water bills in NJ. (around $25 a month for an average family).
Once the water is cut, people try to go into conservation mode. Laundry is done by hand rather than by machine; showers become briefer and less frequent; flushing of toilets is less frequent and/or done by bucket; grass is not watered; cars are not washed. There is always the hope for rain and collection buckets are put under roof drain spouts. But the reality is that we are the middle of hot, dry, dusty season here (in the 90s, high humidity) and the need for water is urgent. I personally drink over 3 liters of water a day, to say nothing of the number of shirts I sweat through.
Thankfully, our family is in a really good position in that our landlord takes care of our water, which is included in the rent. He has created an incredible number backup tanks and wells here on the Hill (the rumor is that he has an entire basement under his house filled with backup water....clearly this man is determined to combat the dire water situation). Even with all these preventative measures, he told us when we moved in that about every 2 years or so, even he needs to call a water truck (which we'll need to help pay for). So far, in the year and a half living here, we've never run out of water, even with these 13 day outages.
Because of our plentiful supply, I honestly don't even know when Dawasco is shut off except by seeing its impact on others. I start seeing Tanzanian workers on the Hill carrying their water jugs and filling up at our well. I see grass getting brown, cars getting dirty, and the looks of stress on peoples' faces. Discussion of Dawasco becomes a common topic.
The irony of all this is that the water, even when it's flowing plentifully, isn't even of good quality. It absolutely has to be filtered before drinking or washing fruits/vegetables because it contains a myriad of pathogens and bacteria. Although every family here makes their own decisions about when they use maji safi (clean water) and when they use tap, I take a very conservative position in that I use filtered water for all cooking (even stuff that's boiled) and brushing teeth. When we first moved here we had a lot of stomach issues and so it's worth the extra time and effort to me to prevent as much as I can. Besides containing invisible hazards, it's also incredibly dirty water - we need to clear out our filter periodically and it is caked with gunk (dirt, sand, etc.) that comes from the tap.
After Dawasco returned last week, a number of people in our community started developing nasty boils on their skin. It probably makes sense that after weeks of lying dormant even more bacteria had entered the pipeline. I honestly don't even want to think about the water quality and what's entering their skin and hair as my kids shower. I try to encourage them to keep their eyes and mouths closed, but how realistic is that? Not surprisingly, skin infections and stomach ailments are common here and cuts take a very long time to heal.
I know that water was always something I took for granted in the West and at times, I think longingly of the days when the hot water tap brought hot, the cold water tap brought cold, water was always flowing, and I could even be safe in drinking the water that filled my toilet bowl if I wanted. And let's be honest here: there are people all over the world that are suffering from these, and even worse conditions: women and children walking miles under blazing sun and facing unsafe conditions (including rape) just to get water that will make them sick.
Consider supporting one of these organizations:
Water Missions International (my uncle is on the Board).
The Water Project
Living Water International
Communication of the outages has been sporadic and generally transmitted by word of mouth. Sometimes, we'll get advance notice of the outages and can make sure our backup tanks are filled. Sometimes, we won't. Other times, they will say that the water will be off for 2 days and it's off for over a week. We've just come off a (largely unscheduled) 13 day outage for some parts of the city and this past weekend, Dawasco issued a statement that water will be off for another 2 weeks (which is disturbing if they are saying 2 weeks up front...how long will it actually be?!!)
Whenever this happens, 2 million+ people in the city of Dar es Salaam are without a reliable water supply. When Dawasco is cut, the options are to buy water at the store or to have a water truck come to fill up your backup tanks (The cost for the truck is around $50 for about 1300 gallons of water and like any good believer in supply-side economics, water truck companies ensure that this cost can go up during shortage times). Even Dawasco water here is significantly more costly than our water bills in NJ. (around $25 a month for an average family).
Once the water is cut, people try to go into conservation mode. Laundry is done by hand rather than by machine; showers become briefer and less frequent; flushing of toilets is less frequent and/or done by bucket; grass is not watered; cars are not washed. There is always the hope for rain and collection buckets are put under roof drain spouts. But the reality is that we are the middle of hot, dry, dusty season here (in the 90s, high humidity) and the need for water is urgent. I personally drink over 3 liters of water a day, to say nothing of the number of shirts I sweat through.
Thankfully, our family is in a really good position in that our landlord takes care of our water, which is included in the rent. He has created an incredible number backup tanks and wells here on the Hill (the rumor is that he has an entire basement under his house filled with backup water....clearly this man is determined to combat the dire water situation). Even with all these preventative measures, he told us when we moved in that about every 2 years or so, even he needs to call a water truck (which we'll need to help pay for). So far, in the year and a half living here, we've never run out of water, even with these 13 day outages.
Because of our plentiful supply, I honestly don't even know when Dawasco is shut off except by seeing its impact on others. I start seeing Tanzanian workers on the Hill carrying their water jugs and filling up at our well. I see grass getting brown, cars getting dirty, and the looks of stress on peoples' faces. Discussion of Dawasco becomes a common topic.
The irony of all this is that the water, even when it's flowing plentifully, isn't even of good quality. It absolutely has to be filtered before drinking or washing fruits/vegetables because it contains a myriad of pathogens and bacteria. Although every family here makes their own decisions about when they use maji safi (clean water) and when they use tap, I take a very conservative position in that I use filtered water for all cooking (even stuff that's boiled) and brushing teeth. When we first moved here we had a lot of stomach issues and so it's worth the extra time and effort to me to prevent as much as I can. Besides containing invisible hazards, it's also incredibly dirty water - we need to clear out our filter periodically and it is caked with gunk (dirt, sand, etc.) that comes from the tap.
After Dawasco returned last week, a number of people in our community started developing nasty boils on their skin. It probably makes sense that after weeks of lying dormant even more bacteria had entered the pipeline. I honestly don't even want to think about the water quality and what's entering their skin and hair as my kids shower. I try to encourage them to keep their eyes and mouths closed, but how realistic is that? Not surprisingly, skin infections and stomach ailments are common here and cuts take a very long time to heal.
I know that water was always something I took for granted in the West and at times, I think longingly of the days when the hot water tap brought hot, the cold water tap brought cold, water was always flowing, and I could even be safe in drinking the water that filled my toilet bowl if I wanted. And let's be honest here: there are people all over the world that are suffering from these, and even worse conditions: women and children walking miles under blazing sun and facing unsafe conditions (including rape) just to get water that will make them sick.
Consider supporting one of these organizations:
Water Missions International (my uncle is on the Board).
The Water Project
Living Water International
Friday, February 6, 2015
Karma
I've been reflecting on the concept of karma recently and how fully it has permeated the American mindset. Although this is originally a Buddhist teaching, somehow even Christians are posting things on Facebook related to karma, all in apparent light-hearted fun.
As found in pop culture, the American understanding of karma is basically, "what goes around comes around": if you do nice things for people, you'll have nice things done for you (and conversely, you generate "bad karma" if you don't treat people well).
It sounds kind of like the Golden Rule, but with one difference: the Bible does not call us to treat others well so that we will be treated well. We are called to show love to others despite their treatment of us. Just look at the cast of people in the Bible who did an incredible number of good things, most notably, Jesus. Instead, most people know how that turned out. Was Jesus actually crucified due to bad karma?
One can see where the popularity of karma comes in as there is definitely something ingrained in our DNA that demands justice...or at least our human concept of justice. Good people should have good things, and bad people should not prosper. In fact, although there are a vast number of books such as When Bad Things Happen to Good People (Kushner) on this topic, this is not a new concept. The Psalms in particular are full of cries against injustice. Jeremiah boldly cries out to God in chapter 12:1... "Yet I would speak with you about your justice: why does the way of the wicked prosper? Why do all the faithless live at ease?" Perhaps even more disturbing to our limited concept of human justice, much of the prosperity we see may be without regard to the soul: Matthew 5:45 explains that the sun rises on the evil and the good, and rain is sent to both the righteous and unrighteous. Some day, we know, eternal justice will prevail, but on this earth, God, not karma, decides the course of our lives. And they often do look unjust.
However, this truth is comforting, since ultimately, all of us deserve "bad karma." We are have all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God (Romans 3:23) and not one of us is righteous ("No, not one! - Romans 3:10). As a recipient of extreme grace, I'm thankful that He does not repay us as our sins deserve (Psalm 103:10).
A somewhat related idea that I've noticed (and that is also disturbingly present in my own life) is what I'll call "causality": the idea, however jokingly presented, that what I do can "jinx" myself or somehow control an outcome. Examples of this include: talking about how amazing the weather is (doing so may cause the weather to turn?), mentioning that the traffic has been moving well (saying this out loud can somehow result in a traffic jam?), being thankful that health has been good (somehow articulating this can result in illness?) To avoid these pitfalls, many people "knock on wood" in an attempt to negate those bold statements which may invite disaster. How is this any different than a prehistoric totem or rain dance?
As I write out these mainstream U.S. practices of karma and causality, I'm convicted that these are both false idols. I think both of these topics speak to our deisre for control of our own lives and they also highlight the power that pop culture has over us if we let it. Although it doesn't seem like a big deal to talk about karma and jinxes, I think that, subtly, it shows that we are trying to be God - the original sin found in Genesis.
What's most scary to me is the word subtle. I can't even recall the words "karma" or "knock on wood" spoken during my childhood, but they are now part of everyday-speak. And as Matthew tells us, "For out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks." (12:34). Here in Africa, good and evil is very clear and the spirit world is not very far away, as my friend Amy highlights in her blog post about witch doctors here.. But in America, it's gray, subtle, sanitized, feel-good...and maybe even more dangerous because we are not paying attention.
"Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood...but against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms." (Ephesians 6:12).
As found in pop culture, the American understanding of karma is basically, "what goes around comes around": if you do nice things for people, you'll have nice things done for you (and conversely, you generate "bad karma" if you don't treat people well).
It sounds kind of like the Golden Rule, but with one difference: the Bible does not call us to treat others well so that we will be treated well. We are called to show love to others despite their treatment of us. Just look at the cast of people in the Bible who did an incredible number of good things, most notably, Jesus. Instead, most people know how that turned out. Was Jesus actually crucified due to bad karma?
One can see where the popularity of karma comes in as there is definitely something ingrained in our DNA that demands justice...or at least our human concept of justice. Good people should have good things, and bad people should not prosper. In fact, although there are a vast number of books such as When Bad Things Happen to Good People (Kushner) on this topic, this is not a new concept. The Psalms in particular are full of cries against injustice. Jeremiah boldly cries out to God in chapter 12:1... "Yet I would speak with you about your justice: why does the way of the wicked prosper? Why do all the faithless live at ease?" Perhaps even more disturbing to our limited concept of human justice, much of the prosperity we see may be without regard to the soul: Matthew 5:45 explains that the sun rises on the evil and the good, and rain is sent to both the righteous and unrighteous. Some day, we know, eternal justice will prevail, but on this earth, God, not karma, decides the course of our lives. And they often do look unjust.
However, this truth is comforting, since ultimately, all of us deserve "bad karma." We are have all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God (Romans 3:23) and not one of us is righteous ("No, not one! - Romans 3:10). As a recipient of extreme grace, I'm thankful that He does not repay us as our sins deserve (Psalm 103:10).
A somewhat related idea that I've noticed (and that is also disturbingly present in my own life) is what I'll call "causality": the idea, however jokingly presented, that what I do can "jinx" myself or somehow control an outcome. Examples of this include: talking about how amazing the weather is (doing so may cause the weather to turn?), mentioning that the traffic has been moving well (saying this out loud can somehow result in a traffic jam?), being thankful that health has been good (somehow articulating this can result in illness?) To avoid these pitfalls, many people "knock on wood" in an attempt to negate those bold statements which may invite disaster. How is this any different than a prehistoric totem or rain dance?
As I write out these mainstream U.S. practices of karma and causality, I'm convicted that these are both false idols. I think both of these topics speak to our deisre for control of our own lives and they also highlight the power that pop culture has over us if we let it. Although it doesn't seem like a big deal to talk about karma and jinxes, I think that, subtly, it shows that we are trying to be God - the original sin found in Genesis.
What's most scary to me is the word subtle. I can't even recall the words "karma" or "knock on wood" spoken during my childhood, but they are now part of everyday-speak. And as Matthew tells us, "For out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks." (12:34). Here in Africa, good and evil is very clear and the spirit world is not very far away, as my friend Amy highlights in her blog post about witch doctors here.. But in America, it's gray, subtle, sanitized, feel-good...and maybe even more dangerous because we are not paying attention.
"Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood...but against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms." (Ephesians 6:12).
Thursday, January 22, 2015
Friji Frustrations
One of my favorite parts about Tanzanian living is to hear the Swahili version of "modern" words (which are generally imported from English). Case in point: the refrigerator. Although its proper Swahili word is jokofu, no one in Dar outside of my Swahili tutor uses that. They use friji.
Our own friji tale is a long and frustrating story that illustrates perfectly how living here can wear you down. Almost three months ago, our friji stopped working. Our freezer stayed perfectly frozen but the fridge part was no longer getting cold,
Electricians here are called fundi umeme and there is a fundi who works on the Hill where we live. His English is not great but I asked my gardener, Ayubu (whose English is pretty much non-existent), to call him. This fundi, Joni, came within two days to check things out. I looked with fondness back on the days in the U.S. where I'd be given a 4-hour window for a repairman. At the time, this window seemed unreasonable: Four hours of sitting around is absurd! Meanwhile, we had all our friji items spread out at friends' houses and at school.
From my limited, Western-influenced perspective, I find that fundis can be good at fixing things...if you know what the problem is specifically. If you need a specific part replaced, OK. If you need a diagnostic exercise...it can be pretty hit or miss (as evidenced by the fact that our car woes could fill up a lengthy series of posts).
In this case, however, Joni correctly diagnosed the problem as being a buildup of ice on the coils of the freezer. This buildup prevents cold air from reaching the bottom of the fridge and can be caused by either the timer or the heater parts malfunctioning. He thought it was the heater but he wasn't sure. He was really concerned by the fact that we didn't have another fridge and didn't want to take the part. There were a lot of communication breakdowns as he wanted to wait it out and see and I insisted he get the part replaced. Finally, after a second visit, he took the part.
Meanwhile, I went out and bought a mini-fridge, reasoning that on the off chance that things were fixed the first time around, we'd have an extra place to put drinks for parties.
It wasn't the heater. He returned with the part, we tested it out, it didn't work. After several failed Swahili texts, I finally got the idea that he was now in Arusha, mourning the loss of his sister. (Did you know that the verbs to arrive and to grieve are very similar in spelling? Cue major cultural blunder).
I gave him some time and space to mourn and then started sending texts: Please come! We need the timer fixed! He responded: "I'll come kesho (tomorrow)" then kesho again. Then kesho again. Then there was no response.
We discovered that we could circumvent the problem by manually adjusting the timer ourselves every couple of days....we'd turn on the heater, melt the ice, and have normal service for a couple of days while the ice built up again.
We'd think: should we just get another fridge? They aren't cheap and this one is not even 2 years old!
Fast-forward to a month+ later. We're by now getting thoroughly sick of our work-around and are noticing that the problem is worsening: we are needing to do this almost every day now. Tim researches how to get to the area of town that sells fridge parts and heads off on a trek across the city in our car that not only has no working A/C, but is actively blowing heat into the car to add to the joy of 90+ degree life in Dar. He is gone almost 3 hours and returns home, bathed in sweat, and unsuccessful.
We ask around: anyone have a reliable fridge fundi? We decide to reach out to Joni one last time and so I texted him today. He responds that he is in Moshi grieving another relative.
I'm not heartless. Really I'm not. But this is getting a little ridiculous. By now, I'm getting rash. I boldly launch into Swahili with Ayubu, begging him to go and get the part for me. I am elated: he knows a place in Tegeta to get friji parts! Tim disconnects the piece and we send him off at about 2:30 to Tegeta, a place about 10 minutes away by bus.
By 7 pm I have given up and moved everything back to the mini-fridge. Clearly, Ayubu is not planning to return today.
At 8:30 pm, there is a knock at the door. It's Ayubu! Unfortunately, he was only able to find "fakes" and not "originals" (yes, these are apparently Swahili words). I'm not sure at all what that means but it sounds like we want the original. These are only sold at the fridge fundi place across town. Although I'm still holding out a small sliver of hope, it sounds an awful lot like the place where Tim just went.
I just plugged in the broken part and he'll take it out again tomorrow.
Does anyone else feel like we're in the middle of a circle story?
Stay tuned.
Our own friji tale is a long and frustrating story that illustrates perfectly how living here can wear you down. Almost three months ago, our friji stopped working. Our freezer stayed perfectly frozen but the fridge part was no longer getting cold,
Electricians here are called fundi umeme and there is a fundi who works on the Hill where we live. His English is not great but I asked my gardener, Ayubu (whose English is pretty much non-existent), to call him. This fundi, Joni, came within two days to check things out. I looked with fondness back on the days in the U.S. where I'd be given a 4-hour window for a repairman. At the time, this window seemed unreasonable: Four hours of sitting around is absurd! Meanwhile, we had all our friji items spread out at friends' houses and at school.
From my limited, Western-influenced perspective, I find that fundis can be good at fixing things...if you know what the problem is specifically. If you need a specific part replaced, OK. If you need a diagnostic exercise...it can be pretty hit or miss (as evidenced by the fact that our car woes could fill up a lengthy series of posts).
In this case, however, Joni correctly diagnosed the problem as being a buildup of ice on the coils of the freezer. This buildup prevents cold air from reaching the bottom of the fridge and can be caused by either the timer or the heater parts malfunctioning. He thought it was the heater but he wasn't sure. He was really concerned by the fact that we didn't have another fridge and didn't want to take the part. There were a lot of communication breakdowns as he wanted to wait it out and see and I insisted he get the part replaced. Finally, after a second visit, he took the part.
Meanwhile, I went out and bought a mini-fridge, reasoning that on the off chance that things were fixed the first time around, we'd have an extra place to put drinks for parties.
It wasn't the heater. He returned with the part, we tested it out, it didn't work. After several failed Swahili texts, I finally got the idea that he was now in Arusha, mourning the loss of his sister. (Did you know that the verbs to arrive and to grieve are very similar in spelling? Cue major cultural blunder).
I gave him some time and space to mourn and then started sending texts: Please come! We need the timer fixed! He responded: "I'll come kesho (tomorrow)" then kesho again. Then kesho again. Then there was no response.
We discovered that we could circumvent the problem by manually adjusting the timer ourselves every couple of days....we'd turn on the heater, melt the ice, and have normal service for a couple of days while the ice built up again.
We'd think: should we just get another fridge? They aren't cheap and this one is not even 2 years old!
Fast-forward to a month+ later. We're by now getting thoroughly sick of our work-around and are noticing that the problem is worsening: we are needing to do this almost every day now. Tim researches how to get to the area of town that sells fridge parts and heads off on a trek across the city in our car that not only has no working A/C, but is actively blowing heat into the car to add to the joy of 90+ degree life in Dar. He is gone almost 3 hours and returns home, bathed in sweat, and unsuccessful.
We ask around: anyone have a reliable fridge fundi? We decide to reach out to Joni one last time and so I texted him today. He responds that he is in Moshi grieving another relative.
I'm not heartless. Really I'm not. But this is getting a little ridiculous. By now, I'm getting rash. I boldly launch into Swahili with Ayubu, begging him to go and get the part for me. I am elated: he knows a place in Tegeta to get friji parts! Tim disconnects the piece and we send him off at about 2:30 to Tegeta, a place about 10 minutes away by bus.
By 7 pm I have given up and moved everything back to the mini-fridge. Clearly, Ayubu is not planning to return today.
At 8:30 pm, there is a knock at the door. It's Ayubu! Unfortunately, he was only able to find "fakes" and not "originals" (yes, these are apparently Swahili words). I'm not sure at all what that means but it sounds like we want the original. These are only sold at the fridge fundi place across town. Although I'm still holding out a small sliver of hope, it sounds an awful lot like the place where Tim just went.
I just plugged in the broken part and he'll take it out again tomorrow.
Does anyone else feel like we're in the middle of a circle story?
Stay tuned.
Mission Trip Musings
Last week, we were honored to help host
a group of 10 students and 2 teachers from Grand Rapids Christian
High School. They traveled to Tanzania to witness God's kingdom,
both the beauty and the brokenness, here in Dar es Salaam.
In a happy instance not uncommon in the
Dutch CRC community, one of the leaders of the trip was a really good
friend of fellow missionaries Marc & Gretchen Driesenga, and the
other leader was our close friend Steve (who we have known for almost
24 years, since we were just a little bit older than the students on
this trip...a scary but beautiful realization).
My friend Gretchen was the inspiration
and brains behind the operation. I served as driver of the very
large school van (aka party bus), chaperone, and sometimes-translator
during most days of the week when I wasn't teaching. Tim accompanied
the group over the weekend on safari to Mikumi National Park. Most
nights of the week we ate Tanzanian food together prepared by local
women and heard from other local missionaries about God's call on
their lives and their work here in Dar. Living here, you don't
always get the full picture of what people are doing, so it was also
helpful and inspirational for me to hear their testimonies.
Everything went really well overall –
we had safety on the roads, no flight delays and no one got sick.
However, I was reminded by all the curveballs that we have to
navigate here in Dar. Last weekend, our car's radiator blew up.
Then half our power went out for 3 days (we only had power in the living room). I got sick. Then the
Driesenga's car broke. Thankfully, everything was restored by the
end of the week and our good friends generously loaned their van to
the group.
Gretchen is a former youth pastor and
knows that keeping busy is key so that there's no time for
homesickness or other drama. We were on the go every day, all day
and by the end of the time, I was running on adrenaline only. I
realized that I really don't have the energy required for youth
ministry! Part of it was that I was still trying to do “regular
life” (teaching part-time, supervising my childrens' homework,
making lunches, etc.) instead of being in a SERVE-type vacuum where
your only responsibility is being fully engaged where you are. Also, admittedly, part
of it is that I'm now 15 years older than when I first led youth
groups!
I learned a lot of other things about
myself this past week. The first one was that I am actually more of
an introvert than I thought. I really needed time each night to be
quiet and alone after being with the group. I also re-confirmed that
my family does not handle “schedule interruptions” all that well.
Although we did OK, they (and I) certainly like our nightly
routines.
But the most surprising revelation was
the unconscious bias I've had against Grand Rapids Christian students
for the last 20+ years. I had uniformly negative experiences with
these students at Calvin, most notably on my floor when I was a
Resident Assistant. They were snooty, cliquey and refused to
participate in any dorm activities or get to know anyone other than
fellow GRCHS students. I frequently wondered why they even bothered
“going away” to school at all.
So to my great relief, although I had
subconsciously expected this group to share similar characteristics,
they were not like that at all. They were friendly, very open to new
experiences, and genuinely seemed to appreciate all the activities in
which they participated. True, they didn't always like the hot sun,
the non-working AC in the van, and the super-spicy Indian food, but
they consistently had positive and gracious attitudes.
I was also struck by their reactions to
the poverty here, particularly at the orphanage we visited. I think
a negative side effect of being surrounded by the poor is that I have
gotten used to seeing it. It really doesn't make an impact on me any
longer...it's just “normal.” Seeing it through their eyes gave
me a new and renewed sense of compassion.
Although a part of me still wonders
about the effectiveness and stewardship of short-term missions trips,
I am praying that this group will continue to have their eyes opened
and that they will share their stories back in the U.S about what God
is doing here on the other side of the world! Even if they don't
enter “missions,” I hope they know that they can serve as
missionaries wherever God calls them.
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