A New Family (Homestay Day, and Adam talks to the cat)

Today, we woke up, ate breakfast, dressed in our skirts and blouses (or long pants and shirts for men), grabbed our cameras, gifts, sunscreen, toilet paper, and headed for our designated vehicles. 

    The time was 8am.  We were headed to spend the day with our homestay families.

   We were going to live for a day with a family who would graciously welcome us into their homes, and direct us as they saw fit.  Our center director told us to expect anything from working and cleaning in the house to herding cattle to cooking and playing charades to break the language barrier.

   Two students per household, and my partner was my good friend Adam.  I was excited to be partnered with a man, because men and women play very different roles during the day around a Tanzanian household.  We were to be staying at the house of Bwana Leo Erinest and his family. 

   It was even better than I could have ever expected.

   We were spoiled rotten.  And I met a woman named Kristin, who delighted in showing me off to her friends.

This is one of my sisters, Emiliana.  There is also Lucia.

   Upon arrival, our babu (grandfather) greeted us with a large smile and a loud karibu!  (welcome!)  We were taken to a pair of stools and sat down.  We were treated to chai (tea) for breakfast, and told (quite adamantly) that we were guests, and would not need to do work while visiting.  Unlike some other groups, Adam and I were treated like favored guests, and were allowed much of whatever we asked for.  Picture-taking was encouraged, and if we wished to help cook or herd cattle, then we were allowed to “lend a hand.” 

   To sum up our day succinctly: Arrive, chai, talk, walk with cows/goats, tour of surrounding lands, play with children, cook lunch, play with children, spoke with the women at the water spigot, talk, play with children, talk.

Our brothers and Adam, cattle, and goats.

   Adam and I were allowed to tag along when the cattle and goats were taken to pasture to graze.  We watched the animals, and at the same time were given a tour of the area by our kaka (brother).  When we told him we were studying the environment, he abruptly began to tell us of farming in the area, land erosion, and walked us all over to identify trees and grasses.  He even asked about American farming, and was amazed to know that any farmer could own more than 20 cows at a time.  We attempted to explain the concept of a cowboy, and in saying “n’gombe mvulana,” or “cow boy,” he looked startled, contemplative, and then burst into laughter.  I believe he thought we literally had mixed hybrid boy-cows in America.  Needless to say, we provided a lot of funny statements to laugh at during the day.

   Back at our home we were given the chance to help cook lunch.  With two pots, one spoon, three rocks and some firewood we were able to provide lunch for 15 people.  With the three rocks positioned so as to support the pot above the fire, we first cooked beef in cabbage with onions, salt, and tomatoes.  In the second pot we mixed water and corn flour continuously to make ughali.  Positioned inside the small jiko (kitchen) the excess of smoke burned our eyes (often I was stirring with my eyes closed), and their cat was anxiously waiting for some scraps.  We were teary-eyed and smelled like a campfire, but the results were well worth the small troubles, because it was delicious!  I don’t know if it simply tastes different here, or we were just proud to know that we’d contributed, but we were delighted to share our meal with the rest of the family.

   My favorite parts of the day? There were three that stick in my mind prominently: conversing in Kiswahili with my babu na bibi (grandfather and grandmother), comparing American animals with African animals with our brother, and playing with the children.  Mind if I elaborate for a short bit?

School kids watching us.

   Babu na bibi only spoke Kiswahili, but were very happy to allow me to stumble through conversations with them.  They were proud, congratulating me often, and were quick to point out pronunciations.  My bibi often shuffled Adam and I into the shade to sit, so our very-white skin would not burn.  Poor Adam was pink by the end of the day.

(L-R) Pascali, Innocent, Erika, and Hendrix

   My brother and his friend spent many hours comparing their animals to ours.  It had never occurred to me how difficult it would be to explain a bear or a wolf to those who had never heard of such animals, much less seen them.  We took turns drawing pictures in the dirt, with hilarity ensuing at my picture of a bear.  They were convinced that a bear was something of a large rat, and we let it end with that.  They couldn’t wrap their heads around a mountain lion, or lion-without-mane.  If I’d thought of it later, it must’ve sounded as if we had lions without hair slinking around our mountains.

   The kids… my new brothers and sisters.  If you know me, or you’ve probably figured it out, I adore kids.  They’re sweet and funny and always fun to play with.  Here in Tanzania, where light-skinned folks are few and far between back in farmlands, the children are very excited to interact with any mzungu.  A group of children walking to school caught sight of us and beat-feet over to us, giggling and chattering as fast as they could.  My brothers and sisters, however, were a bit shy at first.  With a series of funny faces, smiles, and chasing games, they were quick to warm up to the strangers in their home.  But the best part of their time with us?  When Adam spoke to the cat.

Some local children watching us cook.

   Yes, Adam took the time to talk to the cat.  Upon seeing the creature slinking through the house, Adam said “jambo, paka,” prompting giggles from our new siblings.  No one talks to cats, so why was he?  Even better, knowing the kids would get a kick out of it, he would meow at the cat; the cat would respond.  What stories the children must’ve told their friends, that the visitors in their home danced, made silly faces at whim, and spoke to the cat.

   A wonderful day from start to finish, and we were fervently welcomed back again, having been named honorary children/cousins/siblings.  How lucky I am to have another family this far from my home in America!

Reflecting and Relaxed Relativity.

Relaxation is, in my exuberant and often inflated opinion, relative.  Everyone has their different stand-stills, or those moments when their body and mind are at peace.  When the muscles are relaxed, your head is a bit empty, and all of the world falls away.  Tension melts into the ground.  Your eyes feel clear, and everything, for that time, falls into a graceful perspective.  A simplicity, if you will, that may or may not have alluded your mentality for a while.

   I am the definition of a stress-induced individual.  Stress-aholic, if you'll allow it, because I not only carried it around with me, but found myself opening the doors and welcoming it in, setting Stress down at my dinner table, and offering it a place to settle its ugly, heavy head for a time.  I'm well aware of my decisions when made, and try very hard to take into account what will come of them.  For a time, it seemed, I was finding stress where originally I would find comfort.  Unfairly I was judging the world, leaning heavily on friends, and expecting a lot where I had invested so little.  

   I needed to step out of my self-made, repressive bubble, and this was only going to happen by my own device.  If there was one thing I took from my uniquely supportive, yet glaringly blunt family, it was that things didn't just happen, and they certainly wouldn't be worth the time unless time was put into them.  In my house there was never a time we felt that straight-talk wouldn't help.  In fact, one thing I always expected from my parents and brother was their simple, sometimes harsh honesty (my brother has never shied away from a crazy conversation yet, and my parents are quick to tell me when I'm walking down a bumpy road).  I have a whole heck of a lot of support back home (always have) and I know I've got more than my fair share, so who was I to walk blindly about and expect glittering rainbows to be dropped into my lap?

   So I looked into traveling abroad, and I was sure to pick somewhere that would help to bring Humility back into my life, and send Stress packing.  I know this was the right choice, and I was given a lot more than I initially asked for.  In fact, Humility brought with it the extended, extensive family, including Clarity, the goofy cousin Awe who always inspires with the magic of simple actions, and Community, the uncle who always has candy in his pocket, and a story to tell.  Humility was in the people here, who were happy with the love of their families, the shining sun, and the unending faith in God.  Clarity from the children whose smiles shown with joy when we take their pictures, and play soccer with them.  Awe from being shown, again and again, that taking the time to appreciate small wonders keep this girl young.  

   And Community, that silly uncle, stems from the people I share this space with.  My friends here, both staff and fellow students, are very positive, dirty-hands-clean-minds-make-for-great-stories kind of folks, and here there seem to be no boundaries.  Living in such a rural/wild location, one learns to find strength in honest working and communicating, and smiles are abundant.  I think it takes a special kind of person to do this kind of work/study, and I'm very lucky to have met so many bright, uncommonly jolly peers my age.  But really, what could be so bad when you have the Tanzanian sun-rise to wake to every morning?  

   Peace had decided to gift me with a complete moment of silent, transient nothing today as I was hanging out my laundry.  It was before breakfast, and the sun had just risen.  My colleagues were abed, and as I pinned my last laundry pin into place, a morning dove cooed: and I felt at peace.  My mind was silent, my feet cool in the grass, my body free of aches and tension.  It was a terribly wonderful moment, one I felt I had been building to for a long time. 

   I think this is what my dad feels when we're camping, and he's hiking out with us, pointing out trees and birds and peering through his binoculars.  Or how my mother might feel when it's the evening after dinner, and we're settled in the living room; my father, brother, and myself are yelling over some ridiculous notion where none of us are correct, and she knows the answer but is happy to sit and let us bicker over false logic.  Even my brother must find this feeling at some point, but I can only imagine it might be when he's completely numbed out by his Xbox, or drifting to sleep with the television on.  I know for a fact that my dog feels this every time the family is together in the house, snoozing in the corner of the room, happy knowing that sooner or later dad will inevitably giver her another treat.  

   I only wish for everyone to feel this.  There's nothing quite like coming into yourself, and out of yourself, to a point that you know that in the world there's no problem too big, or too heavy, or too ugly, that life hasn't got anything prettier to offer you.  Your problems aren't really problems, but more color on your life-canvas.  Something my dad and I label the cracks and dents in the hardwood floor: character.  These moments are few and far between, but for the first time I knew that Stress was outside of my house, my yard, and even my country, off harassing some other person, because I was standing all on my own beneath the hanging laundry, listening to the doves call on the morning sun.