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.
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