There have been a lot of funerals here in the last 10 weeks. At last count, a couple of weeks ago there had been 15 since the middle of May. There have been at least 4 since then and 1 more yet this week. So I think it’s safe to say we’re over 20.
One constant thing I’ve noticed is that people don’t really cry. The funeral service and burial afterward are filled with very stoic people.
This week I learned something new. The morning of Monday’s funeral Pastor Mmanga and I attended a time of prayer at the home around 10 a.m. before they came to the church for the funeral. When we arrived at the home the people that were there to pay their respects were circling around the casket and crying.
Okay, not just crying, but weeping and wailing.
This was something like a room full of dog lovers who just watched “Old Yeller” or the more recent “Marlee and Me.” Seriously, I have never heard more audible sobbing at a movie theatre than when I went to “Marlee and Me,” but I digress.
Pastor got the microphone from the M.C. (yes they have M.C.’s at funerals) and tried to lead prayer and a hymn, but even with the loud speakers you could not hear him over the wailing that was taking place. I was standing right next to him and I couldn’t hear him.
There was wailing. There were women falling on their knees. There were women fainting. I am not exaggerating at all.
When we got in the car I asked pastor if this was a common occurrence, I told him that I hadn’t even seen crying before and now here were women falling all over themselves as well as the deceased. Then he laughed at me. It was that “you are so ignorant” laugh I talked about earlier this week. Apparently this is the common practice at the home in the morning before the funeral.
“People have to get all of their crying out of the way, so they are able to listen to the funeral sermon” he said. So what I have learned is that they cry in the morning so they can pay attention in the afternoon. Interesting.
Then I asked, “It seemed like some of that crying and fainting was fake, do people pretend to cry?” (I couldn’t help it, I had to ask.)
He laughed again. “Yes” he said “if they don’t cry people will think that they didn’t like the person who died so even if they didn’t like the person they still have to cry.”
“So,” I said, “if it’s obvious that the crying and fainting is fake, then doesn’t everybody know anyway who didn’t like the person?”
With the Pastor Mmanga laugh I love so much he said, “yes of course.”
Seriously, I learn something new every single day.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Pole
Pole
I’m sure that most of you read the word “pole” (the title of this post) like you would read “flag pole” or “straw poll.” In Tanzania this word is not a noun, it is an important greeting.
First here is how you pronounce it, you put an “ay” at the end of it, so basically you pronounce the “e” at the end. POH-lay.
Here are some of the situations in which you might find yourself using such a word:
You’re walking along in the village and you come across a woman out working in her garden. You say “pole,” and she says “asante” or thank you.
You might be helping someone to lift something heavy and you might say to them (or they might say to you) “pole.” The response is always “asante” or “asante sana” (thank you very much.)
You might be attending a funeral and you want to say something to the widow of the one who has passed away, you would shake her hand and say “pole.”
If someone sneezes … pole.
If someone loses or drops something … pole.
In the first example the word means “take it easy,” in the second it means “gently,” in the third it means “my sympathies,” it can also mean “feel better” or “I’m sorry.”
If you want to use this greeting for a whole group of people you say “poleni” pronounced, poh-LAY-nee.
You can also say “pole sana,” which is like putting a “very” behind the word. You can also say “pole pole” which means “slow” or “slow down.”
Then if you want to get really complex you can learn the tribal language versions of this word. In Kichagga there are three ways to say “pole”:
Now, most of you will probably never have any reason to learn these words or know what they mean. So the reason I write about it is that I would love for you to know is how important the sentiment behind the word is. This, I think, tells us something about the heart of our Tanzanian brothers and sisters.
At first I thought this was just a “catch all” word that had no meaning. I have since learned that at the heart of this word is telling a person “I care for you.”
I was teaching a class with the women’s group. I was asking them to tell me how they might respond to a friend who came to their home needing to talk about a difficult situation. The first person to raise their hand said “I would first say pole.” I sort of blew her off (because I hear this word ALL THE TIME.) Then I guess I listened to all of the other people’s responses with more attention. When I was ready to move on that first woman came back to me and said, “I want you to know how important that word ‘pole’ is in our culture. It is a way of telling that person that we are connected, that we exist in this world together.”
There is an African word “Ubuntu,” it was used as the theme for an ELCA national youth gathering a few years ago – it means “I am because we are.” It is a way of saying that we are all connected, our village, our homes, our families, our children belong to everyone. We survive because we are connected. That we exist at all is because of each other. I haven’t confirmed it with anyone who actually knows, but I suspect this is the deep meaning behind the word “pole” too.
“Pole” is my new favorite Swahili word.
The other day I sneezed and John said “pole.” I responded by saying “asante sana.” I know it’s only three words, but I like to think its proof that John and I can carry on a conversation in Swahili. I’m sure you’re all very impressed.
I’m sure that most of you read the word “pole” (the title of this post) like you would read “flag pole” or “straw poll.” In Tanzania this word is not a noun, it is an important greeting.
First here is how you pronounce it, you put an “ay” at the end of it, so basically you pronounce the “e” at the end. POH-lay.
Here are some of the situations in which you might find yourself using such a word:
You’re walking along in the village and you come across a woman out working in her garden. You say “pole,” and she says “asante” or thank you.
You might be helping someone to lift something heavy and you might say to them (or they might say to you) “pole.” The response is always “asante” or “asante sana” (thank you very much.)
You might be attending a funeral and you want to say something to the widow of the one who has passed away, you would shake her hand and say “pole.”
If someone sneezes … pole.
If someone loses or drops something … pole.
In the first example the word means “take it easy,” in the second it means “gently,” in the third it means “my sympathies,” it can also mean “feel better” or “I’m sorry.”
If you want to use this greeting for a whole group of people you say “poleni” pronounced, poh-LAY-nee.
You can also say “pole sana,” which is like putting a “very” behind the word. You can also say “pole pole” which means “slow” or “slow down.”
Then if you want to get really complex you can learn the tribal language versions of this word. In Kichagga there are three ways to say “pole”:
- kwasha mbe (for men) or kwasha ma (for women) – meaning “what’s up?”
- koloilya mbe (for men) or koloilya ma (for women) – If someone is working hard this means “take it easy.”
- kutire mbe (for men) or kutire ma (for women) – meaning “my sympathies.”
Now, most of you will probably never have any reason to learn these words or know what they mean. So the reason I write about it is that I would love for you to know is how important the sentiment behind the word is. This, I think, tells us something about the heart of our Tanzanian brothers and sisters.
At first I thought this was just a “catch all” word that had no meaning. I have since learned that at the heart of this word is telling a person “I care for you.”
I was teaching a class with the women’s group. I was asking them to tell me how they might respond to a friend who came to their home needing to talk about a difficult situation. The first person to raise their hand said “I would first say pole.” I sort of blew her off (because I hear this word ALL THE TIME.) Then I guess I listened to all of the other people’s responses with more attention. When I was ready to move on that first woman came back to me and said, “I want you to know how important that word ‘pole’ is in our culture. It is a way of telling that person that we are connected, that we exist in this world together.”
There is an African word “Ubuntu,” it was used as the theme for an ELCA national youth gathering a few years ago – it means “I am because we are.” It is a way of saying that we are all connected, our village, our homes, our families, our children belong to everyone. We survive because we are connected. That we exist at all is because of each other. I haven’t confirmed it with anyone who actually knows, but I suspect this is the deep meaning behind the word “pole” too.
“Pole” is my new favorite Swahili word.
The other day I sneezed and John said “pole.” I responded by saying “asante sana.” I know it’s only three words, but I like to think its proof that John and I can carry on a conversation in Swahili. I’m sure you’re all very impressed.
Friday, July 29, 2011
For Heidi
I thought you would like to know that I learned how to make your favorite treat today. Delicious!
I also learned how to make these delicious chips from the leftover wrappers that Peter calls "cow cow" chips because people sound like cows when they are eating them!!
Who’s Preaching?
Today there was a funeral and a send-off (a send-off is something like a wedding). Before I left the office last night Pastor Mmanga said “will you preach at the send-off tomorrow?” I said “no.” So he said “will you preach at the funeral?” Again, I said “no.”
I was not trying to be lazy or stubborn, but I did preach at the funeral on Monday and I’m preaching on Sunday. Also, there are two other capable pastors and if they want to wait until the last minute to assign preaching duties, then they can preach themselves. (Okay, so maybe I was being a little bit stubborn.)
I know it’s probably a little bit excessive that at Southwood we usually know who is preaching a year in advance of any given Sunday morning and at least 6 months in advance of a wedding. Funerals are a little less predictable, but we certainly get more than 24 hours’ notice.
So when I got to the office this morning I asked Pastor Shao if he was going to be preaching at the funeral at 1 p.m. He said no, Pastor Mlay would be preaching (Pastor Mlay is a former Uswaa pastor who was to be visiting for today’s funeral.) Pastor Shao did confirm that he would be preaching at the send-off. So all seemed to be ready and I set about preparing my sermon for Sunday.
At about 12:15 another pastor showed up, Pastor Aaron. Then about 12:45 Pastor Mlay showed up. We were sitting in the pastor’s office at about 12:55 and Pastor Mlay was just sitting there relaxed and Pastor Aaron was thumbing through his Bible clearly thinking deeply about something. So I said to Pastor Aaron “are you preaching?” His response was “no.” So I said to Pastor Mlay “are you preaching?” He said “no, Pastor Shao is preaching.” At just that moment Pastor Shao walked into the room and had a very surprised look on his face.
Pastor Shao said to Pastor Mlay, “Pastor Mmanga said you were preaching.”
Pastor Mlay said to Pastor Shao, “Pastor Mmanga sent me an SMS that said he would let me know if I would be preaching and I never got a yes message.”
Pastor Shao then got out his cell phone to show Pastor Mlay the text message he had gotten from Pastor Mmanga that said “Pastor Mlay will be preaching.”
So now it’s about 1:02 p.m. and no one is prepared to preach. All 4 of us have on that “don’t look at me” face.
In the end, all is fine. Pastor Mlay ends up preaching. He preaches a rockin’ sermon. It was actually sort of awesome.
I was not trying to be lazy or stubborn, but I did preach at the funeral on Monday and I’m preaching on Sunday. Also, there are two other capable pastors and if they want to wait until the last minute to assign preaching duties, then they can preach themselves. (Okay, so maybe I was being a little bit stubborn.)
I know it’s probably a little bit excessive that at Southwood we usually know who is preaching a year in advance of any given Sunday morning and at least 6 months in advance of a wedding. Funerals are a little less predictable, but we certainly get more than 24 hours’ notice.
So when I got to the office this morning I asked Pastor Shao if he was going to be preaching at the funeral at 1 p.m. He said no, Pastor Mlay would be preaching (Pastor Mlay is a former Uswaa pastor who was to be visiting for today’s funeral.) Pastor Shao did confirm that he would be preaching at the send-off. So all seemed to be ready and I set about preparing my sermon for Sunday.
At about 12:15 another pastor showed up, Pastor Aaron. Then about 12:45 Pastor Mlay showed up. We were sitting in the pastor’s office at about 12:55 and Pastor Mlay was just sitting there relaxed and Pastor Aaron was thumbing through his Bible clearly thinking deeply about something. So I said to Pastor Aaron “are you preaching?” His response was “no.” So I said to Pastor Mlay “are you preaching?” He said “no, Pastor Shao is preaching.” At just that moment Pastor Shao walked into the room and had a very surprised look on his face.
Pastor Shao said to Pastor Mlay, “Pastor Mmanga said you were preaching.”
Pastor Mlay said to Pastor Shao, “Pastor Mmanga sent me an SMS that said he would let me know if I would be preaching and I never got a yes message.”
Pastor Shao then got out his cell phone to show Pastor Mlay the text message he had gotten from Pastor Mmanga that said “Pastor Mlay will be preaching.”
So now it’s about 1:02 p.m. and no one is prepared to preach. All 4 of us have on that “don’t look at me” face.
In the end, all is fine. Pastor Mlay ends up preaching. He preaches a rockin’ sermon. It was actually sort of awesome.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Meet Sara
Some days the blog posts practically write themselves. Today is one of those days.
This has been a long week, and its only Wednesday. There are 4 funerals this week and three days of House to House Evangelism. So right now the count is two funerals down, Two to go and one day of House to House done, one to go.
Today was House to House and the theme of the day was all about kids!
For starters I met Martha and her baby Calvin. This kid was all smiles the entire time we were there.
Then we met these three girls who never did stop smiling and laughing for the entirety of our visit. When we arrived at their house they were literally jumping for joy to have visitors.
Finally, the best part of the whole day was meeting this little three week old baby named Sara.
Let me tell you how little Sara got her name.
We walked in the house and they handed me the baby. I was sitting there holding her and I asked, "is it a girl?" "Yes," they said. I asked "What is her name." Through translation Pastor Mmanga let me know that up until this point they have not given her a name.
So Pastor Mmanga said "you should name her Sara."
So they did. They immediately started calling her Sara and her mother Mama Sara.
When we were leaving the old grandmother came after me and took my hands in hers and thanked me for giving her granddaughter a name.
Here is sweet sleeping Sara.
"From now on her name will be Sarah ... I will bless her richly." Genesis 17:15-16
In the spirit of full disclosure, that particular Bible verse is totally chopped up and taken way out of context. "So be it," saysthe Lord your God me.
Three cheers for a great day of House to House visiting!
This has been a long week, and its only Wednesday. There are 4 funerals this week and three days of House to House Evangelism. So right now the count is two funerals down, Two to go and one day of House to House done, one to go.
Today was House to House and the theme of the day was all about kids!
For starters I met Martha and her baby Calvin. This kid was all smiles the entire time we were there.
Of course this reminded me of my own sister Martha and her smiling baby Arne. (Obviously this picture was not taken today in Tanzania, but I miss them, so they are pictured here.)
Then we met this little girl Hope, she was very attached to Pastor Mmanga, I think he was a bit enamored with her as well. We all need a little Hope right?
Then we met these three girls who never did stop smiling and laughing for the entirety of our visit. When we arrived at their house they were literally jumping for joy to have visitors.
Finally, the best part of the whole day was meeting this little three week old baby named Sara.
Let me tell you how little Sara got her name.
We walked in the house and they handed me the baby. I was sitting there holding her and I asked, "is it a girl?" "Yes," they said. I asked "What is her name." Through translation Pastor Mmanga let me know that up until this point they have not given her a name.
So Pastor Mmanga said "you should name her Sara."
So they did. They immediately started calling her Sara and her mother Mama Sara.
When we were leaving the old grandmother came after me and took my hands in hers and thanked me for giving her granddaughter a name.
Here is sweet sleeping Sara.
"From now on her name will be Sarah ... I will bless her richly." Genesis 17:15-16
In the spirit of full disclosure, that particular Bible verse is totally chopped up and taken way out of context. "So be it," says
Three cheers for a great day of House to House visiting!
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
The Whole of the Day
Yesterday Pastor Mmanga showed me a text message that he had recieved that said we were to be at Machame hospital by 8 a.m. today. Today was the funeral for Pastor Mwanga.
I said to him "oh, are we going up in the morning and then coming home before the service at 1 p.m.?" He laughed at me with his "you're-so-ignorant-laugh." (I'm getting to know that laugh fairly well!)
Then he said "no, we will be there for the whole of the day."
So here's the break down on "the whole of the day":
Up at 5:30 a.m. for breakfast at 6:30 a.m. I was told to be at the church by 7:30 so we could be to the hospital by 8:00 as instructed.
I am there by 7:10 a.m. and we do not leave for the hospital until about an hour later.
9:00 a.m. arrival at the hospital and a bit of waiting. Then the pastors were invited back to a room that must have been the morgue to see Pastor Mwanga. They were all taking pictures. Pastor Mmanga said to me "take a picture." I told him I didn't want a picture. Then, before his fellow pastors placed his body in the casket prayers and blessings were said.
10:00 a.m. service with pastors and relatives led by the hospital chaplain.
11:00 a.m. leave the hospital and drive to the Mwanga home. The casket was carried into the living room of the home where more prayers and blessings were said. Pastor Mwanga was 66 and his mother is still living, so I'm guessing that she's over 85. She's tiny and could hardly walk and so two people just picked her up and carried her into the house.
11:30 a.m. and we're off to the church. There is quite a processional throughout this whole morning. A truck carrying a brass ensemble was leading the whole shebang. The pastors carry the casket into the church and then take tea.
After tea, half past Noon, just picture about 75 pastors crammed into a small office and a hallway getting their robes on for worship. There's no way a photograph could do it justice, so just picture it in your head.
1 p.m. We process into the church for a service that is about 1 1/2 hours. Not bad. Our sermon is based on one short verse from the Sermon on the Mount, Matthew 5:8, "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." This fits Pastor Mmanga perfectly.
3:30 we all process out of the church down to the cemetery below for the burial. When we leave the sanctuary I am overwhelmed by the number of people gathered outside. The crowd is so big and only a fraction of the people gathered actually fit inside the church.
The burial is all complete by about 4:00 p.m. when we head back to the Mwanga house for lunch.
4:15 p.m. prayers and blessings with the family at the house.
There is this tradition where when a woman dies, another woman is ceremonially given a Kanga and told that it is her place to take care of the family now in place of the woman who has passed away. When a man dies, the eldest son is given some of the things of the man who passed away and told that they now take his place in the family.
In this photo is (from left to right) Pastor Mwanga's brother, his daughter, his wife, and his first born son. His son is waring his jacket and stocking cap and holding his cane. These were given to him as a way of passing on the leadership of the Mwanga family.
Finally, at about 5:00 we were heading home again. Everyone is tired, quiet and reflective, but it has been a good day. The African church is full of ritual, traditions, and spirit. It was actually such an honor to be robed up and joining in prayer with these pastors coming together to celebrate the life of one of their peers.
Pastor Mmanga leaned over to me on the drive home and said, "I think tonight you will have much to write about in your diary." He's right, today is a day I shall not soon forget.
The whole of the day.
I said to him "oh, are we going up in the morning and then coming home before the service at 1 p.m.?" He laughed at me with his "you're-so-ignorant-laugh." (I'm getting to know that laugh fairly well!)
Then he said "no, we will be there for the whole of the day."
So here's the break down on "the whole of the day":
Up at 5:30 a.m. for breakfast at 6:30 a.m. I was told to be at the church by 7:30 so we could be to the hospital by 8:00 as instructed.
I am there by 7:10 a.m. and we do not leave for the hospital until about an hour later.
9:00 a.m. arrival at the hospital and a bit of waiting. Then the pastors were invited back to a room that must have been the morgue to see Pastor Mwanga. They were all taking pictures. Pastor Mmanga said to me "take a picture." I told him I didn't want a picture. Then, before his fellow pastors placed his body in the casket prayers and blessings were said.
10:00 a.m. service with pastors and relatives led by the hospital chaplain.
11:00 a.m. leave the hospital and drive to the Mwanga home. The casket was carried into the living room of the home where more prayers and blessings were said. Pastor Mwanga was 66 and his mother is still living, so I'm guessing that she's over 85. She's tiny and could hardly walk and so two people just picked her up and carried her into the house.
11:30 a.m. and we're off to the church. There is quite a processional throughout this whole morning. A truck carrying a brass ensemble was leading the whole shebang. The pastors carry the casket into the church and then take tea.
After tea, half past Noon, just picture about 75 pastors crammed into a small office and a hallway getting their robes on for worship. There's no way a photograph could do it justice, so just picture it in your head.
1 p.m. We process into the church for a service that is about 1 1/2 hours. Not bad. Our sermon is based on one short verse from the Sermon on the Mount, Matthew 5:8, "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." This fits Pastor Mmanga perfectly.
3:30 we all process out of the church down to the cemetery below for the burial. When we leave the sanctuary I am overwhelmed by the number of people gathered outside. The crowd is so big and only a fraction of the people gathered actually fit inside the church.
The burial is all complete by about 4:00 p.m. when we head back to the Mwanga house for lunch.
4:15 p.m. prayers and blessings with the family at the house.
There is this tradition where when a woman dies, another woman is ceremonially given a Kanga and told that it is her place to take care of the family now in place of the woman who has passed away. When a man dies, the eldest son is given some of the things of the man who passed away and told that they now take his place in the family.
In this photo is (from left to right) Pastor Mwanga's brother, his daughter, his wife, and his first born son. His son is waring his jacket and stocking cap and holding his cane. These were given to him as a way of passing on the leadership of the Mwanga family.
Finally, at about 5:00 we were heading home again. Everyone is tired, quiet and reflective, but it has been a good day. The African church is full of ritual, traditions, and spirit. It was actually such an honor to be robed up and joining in prayer with these pastors coming together to celebrate the life of one of their peers.
Pastor Mmanga leaned over to me on the drive home and said, "I think tonight you will have much to write about in your diary." He's right, today is a day I shall not soon forget.
The whole of the day.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
The Legos Are Now in Africa
I received a package on Friday. I had to sit in the post office waiting for a customs officer to determine that my package was completely safe to enter into Tanzania, luckily this box full of legos easily passed the test.
Inside there were crosses made out of lego's from our Easter project at Southwood. There was also a big and literally long letter from the VBS kids at Southwood taught by Connee Frahm.
There were also pictures of the model church we built out of the legos that matches the church we're building at Nkiraawanga. This is a picture of me showing the picture of the lego model church to Nkiraawanga's architect Mr. Massawe. Clearly he loved it!
The best part was getting to deliver the package to the Sunday School. Pastor Mmanga was pretty excited too - he read out the entire address of both recipient and sender. He also made the kids repeat "Connee Frahm" about six times.
We also read the "long" letter to the kids. Pastor Mmanga also read each name of each of our Southwood VBS kids who had signed it. Let me just say, these kids, their teachers, and their pastor were all very grateful.
Now, enough of my wordy commentary - feast your eyes on these beautiful children!
So Thank you Connee, your love for children is felt all the way around the world!
Could some one please show this to Connee, she has told me numerous times she's not so computer savvy!
Monday, July 25, 2011
Mama Neema
This is just a bonus post for Monday, because I couldn't wait to share what may be my new favorite picture of this entire trip.
This is Mama Neema and her grandson Brian. Mama Neema accompanied us on our House to House visits last week. One of the houses we stopped at was her's where we met her daughter and her grandson.
Brian is just 11 months old. He had malaria sometime this spring and it damaged some of the muscles in his back. Now Brian doesn't have much muscle control to hold his head up or straighten his back.
This picture shows just a brief moment when his head was held high and his smile a mile wide.
This is Mama Neema and her grandson Brian. Mama Neema accompanied us on our House to House visits last week. One of the houses we stopped at was her's where we met her daughter and her grandson.
Brian is just 11 months old. He had malaria sometime this spring and it damaged some of the muscles in his back. Now Brian doesn't have much muscle control to hold his head up or straighten his back.
This picture shows just a brief moment when his head was held high and his smile a mile wide.
It’s All Relative
I think I’ve finally figured this out. What is “this”? How family members are related here in Tanzania.
I’ve often heard of people referring to someone as their “young father” or their “young sister.” I’ve also heard people say that this person is “like a brother.” So I’ve been asking some questions, doing a little amateur investigation and here is what I know for sure, at least I think.
Your uncles are your mother’s brothers.
Your father’s brothers are your “young fathers.”
Your aunts are your father’s sisters.
Your mother’s sisters are your “young mothers.”
Any child of one of your aunts, uncles, young mothers, or young fathers are like your sister or brother.
If your father had more than one wife, and that second or third wife had a child, that child is your young sister or young brother. (yes, this is more common than you'd think.)
If there is another person who has the same two parents as you, they are your sister or your brother. (Okay, I knew that one before I started.)
A neighbor who is roughly the same age as you can also be called a brother or a sister, but that one is usually qualified with the word “like” as in this person is “like a brother to me.”
So I think that’s it. Not sure if its everything, but its what I’ve figured out so far. I remember when I was like 6 or 7 years old and I finally comprehended that my aunt Kari was my mother’s sister, and my uncle Wilbert was my dad’s brother. That sort of blew me away. Yes, I feel the same sort of accomplishment now.
I suppose the most important take away here is that everyone is related. It is an African proverb after all (Hilary Clinton doesn’t own it) – “It takes a village to raise a child.” I have heard such amazing and sacrificial stories here of people taking care of other people’s children as if they were their own child.
Even now, I know of one young Seminary student that for circumstances outside of his choosing he is living here at Uswaa, his wife is teaching somewhere else, and their two children are living with his wife’s sister in yet another location. I think he would prefer that his family was all together, but he knows (without a doubt) that his children are safe, fed, and most importantly loved.
I love this village.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Just Pictures
Here are a few pictures I've been meaning to post, they are old news now, but still worth reporting on. Most of these are from when the Southwood Group was here a couple of weeks ago.
This is Elizabeth, our friend from Birmingham in the UK. She was teaching English at Uroki and was getting ready to head back home. One one of the afternoons that our group was teaching teachers I sat out side and had a lovely talk with her. Definitely a good memory.
This is Mama Kiongoze and Mzee Kiongoze, in other words the head elders. He is her uncle and she is his niece. I also know her as Apaufoo and she is a teacher of tailoring at Uraa Vocational School. For those of you for whom I am bringing back clothing, she is the one making it.
On the last day the group was here we visited Rafiki Foundation, an orphanage and school in our area. Here is Scott dancing with some of the children.
No all Tanzanian's are skilled in point and click photography. Just because of the fun we had attempting to teach Emmanuel how to take a picture, I had to post one of his early attempts.
Here is a successful take #6 or #7.
On the way to the airport, John was having a fun time trying to keep the luggage from toppling over on him. He described the look on his face in this picture as "I look like I'm happily terrified."
Saying good-bye to our favorite Chairman.
Delivering layettes made by last year's VBS kids to the Neema Orphanage. Here is Sister Regina receiving them after graciously showing us around the homes.
What joy! But it was hard to tear Kristi away from these beautiful children.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
In Peace Let Us Pray To The Lord
One of the really great things about Uswaa is the relationship between the Christians and the Muslims. There are five mosques throughout the Uswaa parish and Muslim people are interspersed throughout the neighborhoods of people that we are out visiting. They are as eager to greet me/we pastors as anyone else in the village is.
Muslims and Christians get married to each other all of the time. Sometimes one of the pair will convert to Christianity, sometimes to the Islamic faith. Sometimes they each stay within the community of faith that the came from. We know of one man who married a Muslim woman, she converted to Christianity, but on his farm he does not raise pigs out of respect for her family.
Peaceful and respectful is how I would describe the relationship between these two groups of people in our little corner of the mountain.
One girl came along with us on our youth safari and we were told that she was formerly Muslim. I asked when she converted and she reported that she had been very sick, very very sick. Her Christian friends came and prayed for her and she was healed and then she became Christian.
It is not all perfect. I met a woman on Tuesday who is married to a Muslim man and consequently married into an entirely Muslim family. She remains Christian and is faithful in her worship attendance and church involvement, but life is difficult because she doesn’t have support. Today I met another woman who snuck into the home of a couple that we were visiting, she wasn’t related to them, she just saw we were there and found it to be an opportunity to speak with Christian pastors. She told us that she is Muslim on the outside only, but she remains a Christian in her heart. She said that if her husband knew that she wanted to be Christian he would divorce her, but she wanted the pastor’s to just know what was in her heart. I think it just opened the door for her to be honest with herself about what was in her heart.
“Salaam” is a very common greeting here. I hear it from both the Christians and the Muslims. “How was your day?” someone will ask, “salaam” is the response. How did you sleep? Followed by an emphatic “Salaam Kabisa.” Salaam is an Arabic word that remains an important part of life and relationships in this place. Isn’t it perfect that the word means peace?
This is such a refreshing attitude about faith and life. I often find our notion in America about what Islam is and who its followers are to be distorted, not to mention disturbing. Here, there is mutual respect. When a Christian neighbor dies, the Muslims are there to bring condolences and attend the Christian burial service. The same is true when a Muslim dies.
Some of the Muslims have a mark in the middle of their forehead and someone was explaining to us that they get that from always being down on their knees in prayer, they also said Christians could learn a lot about prayer from them. I tend to agree.
“Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:6-7
Muslims and Christians get married to each other all of the time. Sometimes one of the pair will convert to Christianity, sometimes to the Islamic faith. Sometimes they each stay within the community of faith that the came from. We know of one man who married a Muslim woman, she converted to Christianity, but on his farm he does not raise pigs out of respect for her family.
Peaceful and respectful is how I would describe the relationship between these two groups of people in our little corner of the mountain.
One girl came along with us on our youth safari and we were told that she was formerly Muslim. I asked when she converted and she reported that she had been very sick, very very sick. Her Christian friends came and prayed for her and she was healed and then she became Christian.
It is not all perfect. I met a woman on Tuesday who is married to a Muslim man and consequently married into an entirely Muslim family. She remains Christian and is faithful in her worship attendance and church involvement, but life is difficult because she doesn’t have support. Today I met another woman who snuck into the home of a couple that we were visiting, she wasn’t related to them, she just saw we were there and found it to be an opportunity to speak with Christian pastors. She told us that she is Muslim on the outside only, but she remains a Christian in her heart. She said that if her husband knew that she wanted to be Christian he would divorce her, but she wanted the pastor’s to just know what was in her heart. I think it just opened the door for her to be honest with herself about what was in her heart.
“Salaam” is a very common greeting here. I hear it from both the Christians and the Muslims. “How was your day?” someone will ask, “salaam” is the response. How did you sleep? Followed by an emphatic “Salaam Kabisa.” Salaam is an Arabic word that remains an important part of life and relationships in this place. Isn’t it perfect that the word means peace?
This is such a refreshing attitude about faith and life. I often find our notion in America about what Islam is and who its followers are to be distorted, not to mention disturbing. Here, there is mutual respect. When a Christian neighbor dies, the Muslims are there to bring condolences and attend the Christian burial service. The same is true when a Muslim dies.
Some of the Muslims have a mark in the middle of their forehead and someone was explaining to us that they get that from always being down on their knees in prayer, they also said Christians could learn a lot about prayer from them. I tend to agree.
“Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.” Philippians 4:6-7
Friday, July 22, 2011
Pastor Mwanga
Pastor Mwanga
(FYI - Pastor Mwanga is not to be confused with Pastor Mmanga, the pastor at Uswaa who I regularly write about.)
I met Pastor Mwanga something like 10 days ago. He had lunch with us at Uswaa after a funeral. He was formerly a pastor at Uswaa, for about 5 years in the early 2000’s. Now he serves a church called Nkwatira which is “upstairs” (or up the Mountain) from Uswaa but in the same cluster of churches.
I met him again last week at a Pastor’s meeting he was hosting at his church. Pastor Shao and I arrived by piggy-piggy a little bit early. We hiked up the front steps of the church and found Pastor Mwanga bundled up in his winter coat and stocking cap sipping a steaming cup of tea. He welcomed us in from the cold. He said "I have been sitting here so cold, but now that you have arrived I am warm again." He gave us this tour around the church property, proudly showing us the church’s projects and dreams.
Nkwatira is high up on Kilimanjaro, once the sun came out and cleared all of the clouds away you could see for miles. Pastor Mwanga took me by the arm and led me over to this outlook and showed me how you could see Uraa (his home church) and Uswaa (our church). As he stood there at one church and looked at the two others he said, “so this is my home.”
Yesterday we saw Pastor Mwanga again. Again he was bundled up and talking about the cold weather. I was standing by Pastor Shao and he looked at Pastor Shao with a scolding look and said “you should not be taking Pastor Sara on the piggy-piggy, you are not a very good driver.” He was serious. For some reason people in Tanzania have permission to be blunt like that and it is completely acceptable. We all laughed about Pastor Shao on the piggy-piggy.
Last night I wrote in my journal, “I love Pastor Mwanga, he is such a genuine, humorous and faithful man.”
Early this morning Pastor Mwanga passed away. My heart is heavy. The beauty of our global mission partnerships is building relationships, the relationships are our mission. The bad part about building relationships is that your heart breaks when you have to say good-bye.
Just yesterday we were standing face to face. He was patting his chest with his hands searching for his pen, I reached up and took it from behind his ear and handed it to him. Today I sat in his home and prayed with his grieving family.
Two men will be working together in the field; one will be taken, the other left. Two women will be grinding flour at the mill; one will be taken, the other left. So you, too, must keep watch! For you don’t know what day your Lord is coming. Matthew 24:40-42
I know this text usually gets distorted by some who would like to make us fearful about the very non-biblical notion of the rapture. I find that it is much simpler than that.
One day a person is here, the next day they are not.
It is a calling to remain faithful in the work that God has called us to do, to be diligent about caring for people and attentive to the relationships we have been given. It is a reminder to be at work each moment of each day because we do not have eyes to see the future.
This is what I shall think about when I attend Pastor Mwanga’s funeral next week, I saw him on his last day when he was fully at work serving God and God’s people.
(FYI - Pastor Mwanga is not to be confused with Pastor Mmanga, the pastor at Uswaa who I regularly write about.)
I met Pastor Mwanga something like 10 days ago. He had lunch with us at Uswaa after a funeral. He was formerly a pastor at Uswaa, for about 5 years in the early 2000’s. Now he serves a church called Nkwatira which is “upstairs” (or up the Mountain) from Uswaa but in the same cluster of churches.
Nkwatira is high up on Kilimanjaro, once the sun came out and cleared all of the clouds away you could see for miles. Pastor Mwanga took me by the arm and led me over to this outlook and showed me how you could see Uraa (his home church) and Uswaa (our church). As he stood there at one church and looked at the two others he said, “so this is my home.”
Yesterday we saw Pastor Mwanga again. Again he was bundled up and talking about the cold weather. I was standing by Pastor Shao and he looked at Pastor Shao with a scolding look and said “you should not be taking Pastor Sara on the piggy-piggy, you are not a very good driver.” He was serious. For some reason people in Tanzania have permission to be blunt like that and it is completely acceptable. We all laughed about Pastor Shao on the piggy-piggy.
Last night I wrote in my journal, “I love Pastor Mwanga, he is such a genuine, humorous and faithful man.”
Early this morning Pastor Mwanga passed away. My heart is heavy. The beauty of our global mission partnerships is building relationships, the relationships are our mission. The bad part about building relationships is that your heart breaks when you have to say good-bye.
Just yesterday we were standing face to face. He was patting his chest with his hands searching for his pen, I reached up and took it from behind his ear and handed it to him. Today I sat in his home and prayed with his grieving family.
Two men will be working together in the field; one will be taken, the other left. Two women will be grinding flour at the mill; one will be taken, the other left. So you, too, must keep watch! For you don’t know what day your Lord is coming. Matthew 24:40-42
I know this text usually gets distorted by some who would like to make us fearful about the very non-biblical notion of the rapture. I find that it is much simpler than that.
One day a person is here, the next day they are not.
It is a calling to remain faithful in the work that God has called us to do, to be diligent about caring for people and attentive to the relationships we have been given. It is a reminder to be at work each moment of each day because we do not have eyes to see the future.
This is what I shall think about when I attend Pastor Mwanga’s funeral next week, I saw him on his last day when he was fully at work serving God and God’s people.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
I See White People
Its Wednesday night as I write this and we've just returned home from a gathering at the Indian restaurant El Rancho, with a bunch of Nebraskans. The ironys are endless in Tanzania. This will be short, as I'm tired and we're out for another round of home visits in the early morning.
It was a fun night, great to hear about the work that others are doing in this neck of the Kilimanjaro woods. Some are here for a short time, others for a year, some indefinitely - its nice to be a part of this group of adventurous people. There was also one other Minnesotan in this group so I enjoyed hearing a few "uff-da's" too.
It has been a busy week, there are so many more stories to tell, finding the time to reflect and write is the harder commodity to come by these days, that and electricity. (We've spent the last two weeks without power most nights.) Its hard to believe that in just three weeks I'll be on a plane headed home - there is so little time left do all of the things that are left to do. Here we go.
Happy Thursday friends!
It was a fun night, great to hear about the work that others are doing in this neck of the Kilimanjaro woods. Some are here for a short time, others for a year, some indefinitely - its nice to be a part of this group of adventurous people. There was also one other Minnesotan in this group so I enjoyed hearing a few "uff-da's" too.
It has been a busy week, there are so many more stories to tell, finding the time to reflect and write is the harder commodity to come by these days, that and electricity. (We've spent the last two weeks without power most nights.) Its hard to believe that in just three weeks I'll be on a plane headed home - there is so little time left do all of the things that are left to do. Here we go.
Happy Thursday friends!
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Things I'm Missing
Happy 2nd Birthday to Anna Elizabeth!
I sure wish I could celebrate with you.
I love you so much.
Aunt Sara
Brothers
Sunday's post was for my dad, so today's ought to be for my big brother Ed who long ago requested a post of this title and I'm certain the anticipation has been killing him.
Brothers
There is this little prayer house near Uswaa, not more than a 20 minute walk. From the outside it looks like someone’s ramshackle out-building or barn, but when you walk inside there are benches, an altar, and a cross. Amazing. Right there in the middle of the bush people gather for prayer, worship, and church business.
Last week I went along with Pastor Mmanga to a meeting at this little prayer house. We met these two brothers, one is 85 and the other is 71, they don’t seem to really like each other. The meeting was actually a mediation between these two, they are in disagreement about who owns a certain piece of land. The contested property is about the width and length of a boardwalk along a city street. Only it’s a triangle. Pastor calls it “the triangle of tragedy.”
These two men are old, “old enough to know better” as my grandma would have said. I sat there looking at their faces, they have those old man faces that sort of begin to look like a little kid again. Ya know? I just kept picturing them as little boys playing in the yard together. What happened? I know it seems like I’m day dreaming during a counseling session, but it’s what you do when you don’t speak Swahili.
Later that day Pastor Shao asked me how the meeting went. I said to him, “based on their voices and body language it did not end well.” He asked if they shook hands when they parted. I confirmed that they had not. He said, “the meeting was unsuccessful.”
Why? Why could this small piece of land possible be worth breaking a relationship? I know of lots of stories like this, some in my own family. Stories of people who can’t work together with enough civility to maintain the relationship that started it all in the first place.
This is not the only story of brothers that I have to share. The second story should be more inspiring.
When we left the prayer house we headed to another house, the Urassa house. There, prayers were already underway. They were holding a funeral service for a young woman of 41 years. She was their sister. Here were three brothers who for their entire lives had cared for this woman who (for reasons not explained to me) could not care for herself. I don’t think she really had significant relationships with many people, but these brothers hosted a funeral and a feast in her honor and everyone showed up to celebrate her life and commend her to God.
Funerals here do not tend to be emotional, but each of these brothers in their own way showed a love for their sister that was genuine and it is clear that they will profoundly miss her place in their lives.
I’m not sure if these stories exactly relate, in one two brothers walk away angry and in the other three brothers come together sharing a grief that only they three can understand.
What it made me think about, is something I’ve been thinking about every single day that I have been here, which is that the Tanzanians are really not so different from us. Our homes, our environments, and our resources are different, but either of these stories could have happened in any family, in any country, on any continent.
We are human beings and have a God who not only blessed us with relationships, but also entered into relationship with us. He came to offer us the love of an earthly brother and the forgiveness that only could come from God. Why would we ever want to spend time keeping something like a triangle of land (a proverbial triangle of course) between us?
I will now apologize for venturing into sermon territory here when all I really wanted to do was to say “thank you” to my brothers who are the kind of people who create stories that inspire me. So thank you and see you soon!
Thanks to my brother Ed yesterday’s post featured a country song, so I thought I’d include a piece of one again today as well, one of my favorites.
Brothers
There is this little prayer house near Uswaa, not more than a 20 minute walk. From the outside it looks like someone’s ramshackle out-building or barn, but when you walk inside there are benches, an altar, and a cross. Amazing. Right there in the middle of the bush people gather for prayer, worship, and church business.
Last week I went along with Pastor Mmanga to a meeting at this little prayer house. We met these two brothers, one is 85 and the other is 71, they don’t seem to really like each other. The meeting was actually a mediation between these two, they are in disagreement about who owns a certain piece of land. The contested property is about the width and length of a boardwalk along a city street. Only it’s a triangle. Pastor calls it “the triangle of tragedy.”
These two men are old, “old enough to know better” as my grandma would have said. I sat there looking at their faces, they have those old man faces that sort of begin to look like a little kid again. Ya know? I just kept picturing them as little boys playing in the yard together. What happened? I know it seems like I’m day dreaming during a counseling session, but it’s what you do when you don’t speak Swahili.
Later that day Pastor Shao asked me how the meeting went. I said to him, “based on their voices and body language it did not end well.” He asked if they shook hands when they parted. I confirmed that they had not. He said, “the meeting was unsuccessful.”
Why? Why could this small piece of land possible be worth breaking a relationship? I know of lots of stories like this, some in my own family. Stories of people who can’t work together with enough civility to maintain the relationship that started it all in the first place.
This is not the only story of brothers that I have to share. The second story should be more inspiring.
When we left the prayer house we headed to another house, the Urassa house. There, prayers were already underway. They were holding a funeral service for a young woman of 41 years. She was their sister. Here were three brothers who for their entire lives had cared for this woman who (for reasons not explained to me) could not care for herself. I don’t think she really had significant relationships with many people, but these brothers hosted a funeral and a feast in her honor and everyone showed up to celebrate her life and commend her to God.
Funerals here do not tend to be emotional, but each of these brothers in their own way showed a love for their sister that was genuine and it is clear that they will profoundly miss her place in their lives.
I’m not sure if these stories exactly relate, in one two brothers walk away angry and in the other three brothers come together sharing a grief that only they three can understand.
What it made me think about, is something I’ve been thinking about every single day that I have been here, which is that the Tanzanians are really not so different from us. Our homes, our environments, and our resources are different, but either of these stories could have happened in any family, in any country, on any continent.
We are human beings and have a God who not only blessed us with relationships, but also entered into relationship with us. He came to offer us the love of an earthly brother and the forgiveness that only could come from God. Why would we ever want to spend time keeping something like a triangle of land (a proverbial triangle of course) between us?
I will now apologize for venturing into sermon territory here when all I really wanted to do was to say “thank you” to my brothers who are the kind of people who create stories that inspire me. So thank you and see you soon!
Thanks to my brother Ed yesterday’s post featured a country song, so I thought I’d include a piece of one again today as well, one of my favorites.
Jerusalem
by Steve Earle.
I woke up this mornin' and none of the news was good
And death machines were rumblin' 'cross the ground where Jesus stood
And the man on my TV told me that it had always been that way
And there was nothin' anyone could do or say
And I almost listened to him
Yeah, I almost lost my mind
Then I regained my senses again
And looked into my heart to find
That I believe that one fine day all the children of Abraham
Will lay down their swords forever in Jerusalem
Well maybe I'm only dreamin' and maybe I'm just a fool
But I don't remember learnin' how to hate in Sunday school
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
A Crappy Day
I can't sugar coat it for you folks, this was not the best of days.
It started out with the best of intentions. I am starting a little video project, trying to bring the stories of the Uswaa people home to share with you. Today we visited Mama Upendo, the loveliest of women, living in one of the worst possible situations.
This is Mama Upendo's home. She lives here with three of her five children, the other two are away at school. Mama Upendo was so willing to share her story, even the really hard parts, I can't tell you how in awe I am of her courage in the face of tremendous struggles.
Her husband died in 2008. Since then she had worked hard in her little garden to grow bananas, coffee, beans, and vanilla to try to support her family. So far, every one of her children is making their way through secondary school. Her strength and determination is nothing short of miraculous.
The next part is not pretty at all.
We walked in the front door of her house, then out the back. Standing outside of the back door I could touch both the house and the cow; and the cow was standing in 4 inches of its own waste. Alongside the cow were chickens roaming about and rabbits galore. Just imagine she and her children sleeping right there, a window into the cow's pen just feet away. Sharing a wall with the cow is the kitchen where she has a fire pit to cook and heat water and stores all of the food and dishes for the family. You just can't believe all that is packed into this tiny little space.
Mama Upendo thanked and thanked and thanked us for visiting her home. She served us the most amazing little tea outside in front of the house with these freshly roasted peanuts and crispy potatoes. Right now my stomach is in cramps and knots because I was a bit of a glutton about the food she served. Only later, when the stomach pains started, did I realize that eating food served out of a kitchen next door to a cow was probably not my most brilliant idea. (John's fine by the way, so the Olson's can relax.)
I'm sure I'll be fine in no less than a good night's sleep. Mama Upendo, on the other hand, is home tonight sleeping next to a cow. That is an image that makes me forget all about my stomach.
During our little interview I asked her what the challenges are that she faces. The list was long. Then I asked her what brings her joy and her list included just two things. One, seeing her children succeed in school and two, her faith that God is with her through all things.
If I could pack just an ounce of her faith to bring back with me it would be an elixir for every ill.
It started out with the best of intentions. I am starting a little video project, trying to bring the stories of the Uswaa people home to share with you. Today we visited Mama Upendo, the loveliest of women, living in one of the worst possible situations.
This is Mama Upendo's home. She lives here with three of her five children, the other two are away at school. Mama Upendo was so willing to share her story, even the really hard parts, I can't tell you how in awe I am of her courage in the face of tremendous struggles.
Her husband died in 2008. Since then she had worked hard in her little garden to grow bananas, coffee, beans, and vanilla to try to support her family. So far, every one of her children is making their way through secondary school. Her strength and determination is nothing short of miraculous.
The next part is not pretty at all.
We walked in the front door of her house, then out the back. Standing outside of the back door I could touch both the house and the cow; and the cow was standing in 4 inches of its own waste. Alongside the cow were chickens roaming about and rabbits galore. Just imagine she and her children sleeping right there, a window into the cow's pen just feet away. Sharing a wall with the cow is the kitchen where she has a fire pit to cook and heat water and stores all of the food and dishes for the family. You just can't believe all that is packed into this tiny little space.
Mama Upendo thanked and thanked and thanked us for visiting her home. She served us the most amazing little tea outside in front of the house with these freshly roasted peanuts and crispy potatoes. Right now my stomach is in cramps and knots because I was a bit of a glutton about the food she served. Only later, when the stomach pains started, did I realize that eating food served out of a kitchen next door to a cow was probably not my most brilliant idea. (John's fine by the way, so the Olson's can relax.)
I'm sure I'll be fine in no less than a good night's sleep. Mama Upendo, on the other hand, is home tonight sleeping next to a cow. That is an image that makes me forget all about my stomach.
During our little interview I asked her what the challenges are that she faces. The list was long. Then I asked her what brings her joy and her list included just two things. One, seeing her children succeed in school and two, her faith that God is with her through all things.
If I could pack just an ounce of her faith to bring back with me it would be an elixir for every ill.
A House of Gold
Written and recorded by Hank Wiliams Sr.
People steal they cheat and lie
For wealth and what it will buy
But don't they know on the judgement day,
That Gold and Silver will melt away.
I'd rather be in a deep dark grave
And to know that my poor soul was saved
Than to live in this world in a house of Gold
And deny my God and doom my soul.
What good is Gold and Silver too
If your heart's not pure and true
Sinner hear me when I say
Fall down on your knees and pray.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Isn't It Ironic?
Irony #1
Tonight I was chatting with my sister Mary who was sitting in sweltering heat in Minneapolis trying to decide what to do with her family. She had to cancel sweet Anna's 2nd birthday party because its too hot outside.
At the same time I was sitting all cozy by the fireplace enjoying a hot mug of spicy ginger tea.
Irony #2
I'm in Africa. Children die of hunger here every day. I cannot remember the last time I was hungry.
They feed us all the time here and I think I've mentioned this before, but they get all offended and think its disrespectful if we don't want to eat. Or, like my Aunt Ilene, they think that if you don't take seconds it means you didn't like the food.
We have breakfast between 7 and 8, then we have tea (with food) between 10 and Noon. Then Lunch sometime between Noon and 2, then afternoon tea (again with food) and then supper at about 7:30 or 8.
The food is delicious. Seriously, there is another post coming about how much I like the food here. But, I could feed myself and at least 10 of the starving children with what I'm offered each day.
Irony #3
Chicken. I'm having a chicken dilemma. The chicken here is actually a bit nasty. Its local chicken, which means that the birds are running around the neighborhood all day eating what they find and then going home at night to roost. But the meat is all chewy and tough and you really have to pick it up with two hands and use your teeth like an animal to get it off the bone.
Then I think about the chicken we have at home that is juicy and tender and you can cut into it with just the side of your fork. This is the kind of chicken where the meat just falls of the bones. Those chickens however don't get to roam free in the village all day and I'm pretty sure they are genetically engineered to have more of the white meat we love so much.
So either birds are treated ethically and produce meat I actually want to eat, or the birds are literally "free as a bird" and I can't get any satisfaction from eating it. (Whoa sorry, did I just get political there? Oops!)
So these are just some of the things that are making me think (or think twice) these days.
Tonight I was chatting with my sister Mary who was sitting in sweltering heat in Minneapolis trying to decide what to do with her family. She had to cancel sweet Anna's 2nd birthday party because its too hot outside.
At the same time I was sitting all cozy by the fireplace enjoying a hot mug of spicy ginger tea.
Irony #2
I'm in Africa. Children die of hunger here every day. I cannot remember the last time I was hungry.
They feed us all the time here and I think I've mentioned this before, but they get all offended and think its disrespectful if we don't want to eat. Or, like my Aunt Ilene, they think that if you don't take seconds it means you didn't like the food.
We have breakfast between 7 and 8, then we have tea (with food) between 10 and Noon. Then Lunch sometime between Noon and 2, then afternoon tea (again with food) and then supper at about 7:30 or 8.
The food is delicious. Seriously, there is another post coming about how much I like the food here. But, I could feed myself and at least 10 of the starving children with what I'm offered each day.
Irony #3
Chicken. I'm having a chicken dilemma. The chicken here is actually a bit nasty. Its local chicken, which means that the birds are running around the neighborhood all day eating what they find and then going home at night to roost. But the meat is all chewy and tough and you really have to pick it up with two hands and use your teeth like an animal to get it off the bone.
Then I think about the chicken we have at home that is juicy and tender and you can cut into it with just the side of your fork. This is the kind of chicken where the meat just falls of the bones. Those chickens however don't get to roam free in the village all day and I'm pretty sure they are genetically engineered to have more of the white meat we love so much.
So either birds are treated ethically and produce meat I actually want to eat, or the birds are literally "free as a bird" and I can't get any satisfaction from eating it. (Whoa sorry, did I just get political there? Oops!)
So these are just some of the things that are making me think (or think twice) these days.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Brrrr!
This is for my dad, who's first question is always "what's the weather like?"
It is cold here.
While I am here for my summer months, it is winter in Tanzania, and it is cold.
On Sunday at church, while I was sitting there shivering I was also coveting Mama Vi's leg warmers. When I got home I pulled out my knee high Nebraska socks (courtesy of Linda!) and sat on the couch with a nice hot cup of ginger tea.
Back in May, they told me that in July it would start to get warmer. I really think they just told me that to make me happy, I don't think they believed me that I actually enjoy the cooler temperatures. Now they are saying that come mid-August it will start to warm up again.
This morning it was raining, which is good for the farmers so I can put up with the mud that is now caked onto my shoes. I'm a farmer's daughter, I've learned never to complain about the rain when the crops need it!
What's the weather like in Nebraska? Just kidding, I've been relishing the Facebookcomplaints comments from my Nebraska friends and you can picture me just laughing with joy that I am not sitting in sweat with you. (I do miss you all - just not the humidity.) I really am happier in cold weather.
The Tanzanians (like many Nebraskans) can't understand this about me. They keep apologizing for the cold weather, but I keep telling them I love it. They are all bundled up in winter coats and stocking hats and I'm just content with my red socks and my hot tea.
While they talk about the weather a lot they don't actually ever mentioned the temperature in numbers of degrees. If I were guessing I would say that its about 50-60 at night and then 60 to 80 during the day.
In other words, perfect.
It is cold here.
While I am here for my summer months, it is winter in Tanzania, and it is cold.
On Sunday at church, while I was sitting there shivering I was also coveting Mama Vi's leg warmers. When I got home I pulled out my knee high Nebraska socks (courtesy of Linda!) and sat on the couch with a nice hot cup of ginger tea.
Back in May, they told me that in July it would start to get warmer. I really think they just told me that to make me happy, I don't think they believed me that I actually enjoy the cooler temperatures. Now they are saying that come mid-August it will start to warm up again.
This morning it was raining, which is good for the farmers so I can put up with the mud that is now caked onto my shoes. I'm a farmer's daughter, I've learned never to complain about the rain when the crops need it!
What's the weather like in Nebraska? Just kidding, I've been relishing the Facebook
The Tanzanians (like many Nebraskans) can't understand this about me. They keep apologizing for the cold weather, but I keep telling them I love it. They are all bundled up in winter coats and stocking hats and I'm just content with my red socks and my hot tea.
While they talk about the weather a lot they don't actually ever mentioned the temperature in numbers of degrees. If I were guessing I would say that its about 50-60 at night and then 60 to 80 during the day.
In other words, perfect.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Mr. Shuma
Meet Mr. Shuma, pictured here with his wife. We spent the better part of the day last Saturday at the home of Steven Shuma.
I had met him on Friday, I think he was impressed with my greeting to him in Kichagga. Who wouldn't be? So Saturday he stopped by the church office to invite us to the "Chakula Cha Mtoto" he was having that afternoon. This is a celebration to welcome the family of his son's fiance to their home. It is a traditional meal and all kinds of speeches get made.
When he stopped into the office he endeared himself to me right away when he pointed out the blood splattered on his shoe and said "for some occasions you cannot trust a butcher, you have to do the slaughtering yourself." Seriously, right then I knew I wanted to attend this party!
It was a fun party, good food and plenty of Bitter Lemon, my favorite soda. When we were leaving I asked Mr. Shuma where his son was, I hadn't met him. Turns out he wasn't there, its just the parents of the two sides that come together. "Chakula Cha Mtoto" means "food of the children" and its a way of letting the parents of the future bride know that the groom's family is capable of feeding her.
As the bride's family drove away I noticed a huge bundle of bananas strapped to the top of their vehicle. This was confirmed to be a gift from the groom's family to the bride's - sort of like a dowry. Pastor says there may have been money exchanged too.
I guess this is a good trade? Traditionally the bride's family was sent home with an ox leg and a can of milk.
Wedding traditions are so interesting aren't they?
I remember early on in our visit we were talking with our German friends about the interesting tradition they have here in Tanzania called a "send off" where the bride's family basically gives their daughter to the other family. It is as big as the wedding. Some of the Germans had attended a wedding in America and they were reporting on our silly tradition of a rehearsal. They laughed and laughed about that. So did I.
Friday, July 15, 2011
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