Stories from Some Travels

Friends,

I had the opportunity to travel to Nothern Uganda to attend the ordination of a Jesuit friend and learn more about East Africa.  I wish to share with you some of my journal entries from the trip so that you might feel some of the joy I felt during this immersion into another part of East Africa

21.Aug- Written on a bus traveling from Kampala to Gulu

Yesterday we reached the Ugandan-Tanzanian border at 2:00pm and entered into the land of bananas.  Mwanza [a Tanzanian city bordering Lake Victoria] had helped to adjust my eyes to a world of green that I have since forgotten during these dustiest days of Dodoma, but the mountains and trees of Uganda were a new beauty that my eyes devoured the full four- hour bus ride from the border to Kampala [the capital of Uganda].

In Kampala my life changed from a partial-understanding of what the Kiswahili store signs and billboards and people of Tanzania said to the overload of information that being in a place that speaks your native tongue can bring.  I now had to hesitate before speaking and remind myself not to use the Kiswahili greetings that have come to be natural, almost instinctual, during my interactions with others. 

Our friend met my community mate and I at the bus stand upon arrival in Kampala and in his private care we slowly squeezed our way through the disorganized mass of traffic that is the streets of Kampala on a typical day.  Twice I fell asleep in the midst of traffic jams as we waited with the engine off for the vehicles in front to nose their way into an opening.  I believe there were traffic lights, but the drivers seemed to dismiss any instruction the lights were intended to give.  The fourteen-hour bus ride from Mwanza had worn me out enough for this misuse of space to annoy me and make me long for the fluid and at times empty streets of Dodoma. 

Our friend took us to our house for the night- a concrete abode sitting not more than two blocks from Entembe road, known well as a major highway jetting through the city of Kampala.  The Mama hosting us had milk tea prepared for us while her gregarious four-year-old daughter taught us Lugandan.  Dinner was served- potatoes boiled with tomatoes and sautéed spinach, and my first Ugandan banana- a fat tiny one no longer than the average-sized person’s index finger.  With shampooed hair and a full stomach I fell asleep on a pillow-less floor bed before having time to remember where I was.

--~--

24. Aug – Written in Kampala, after returning from the ordination

Upon our arrival in Uganda our close Ugandan friend told us that people in Uganda are very expressive.  This became apparent to me the day of the ordination when the joy and excitement began even before reaching the church.  On the way our van picked up a load of people, mostly women and children.  Within seconds of the door sliding shut a woman inside let out a cry that I mistakenly took as a cry of pain.  I swiveled my head to see what the problem might be and saw only smiling faces.  A moment later there was a van-load of shrieking, ululations and singing with such great ardor that I began to loathe all the quiet times in my life that made this moment so un-earthly as if my eardrums could not endure such high-decibels and would surely shatter from the forceful vibrations that could not be cushioned to soften the noise.  I come from a family where laughing is acceptable only for an exceptional joke and we raise our voices only during conversations when it seems necessary to increase the volume to support one’s point.  Shrieking and singing is very far from our form of expression.  Discovering the novelty of such and experience changed my attitude that was at first irritation to admiration.  That form of expression is a kind of freedom I do not think I could ever bring myself to know.

“The Ordination”

The churchyard was filled with people neatly arranged in tents according to their community affiliations: ‘Seminarians and Sisters,’ ‘Kampala-Arua,’ ‘Choir’, ‘Business Community,’ ‘Government Officials and NGO Representatives,’  ‘Other Religious Representatives (Protestants & Muslims),’  CWAAD/Catholic Action,’ ‘The Two Deacons and Their Parents,’ ‘Main Celebrant and The Clergy,’ and ‘Parish Members,’ to name just a few.  I was told at least 3,000 people would be in attendance.  The tents, tables, altar chairs, trees and dancing children were decorated in yellow and white; the choir and band danced and sang as people were seated and we were lead to the Kampala-Arua section (perhaps because the usher didn’t know where else to put us as their wasn’t a section that described our connection with the Jesuits).  At the end of the celebration we were graced with the petrifying honor of introducing ourselves as ‘Jesuit collaborators’ to the thousands of faces before us and so made up for the missing sign that would have otherwise explained why we were there.

The ceremony began with a grand entrance led by the dancing children, women dressed in floor-length satin gowns tied with a wide sash -a traditional Ugandan outfit worn only by married women called gomesi- followed by four women dressed in simple local fabrics and carrying on their heads pots of incense and flowers.  Next the priests paraded in: Jesuits, Franciscans, Salesians, Diocesans, among others and finally the two Deacons walking in front of the Jesuit Provincial, Bishop and Parish Priest.  The ceremony went as one might expect an ordination to go- there was much singing from the choir, music played by drums, electric guitars and local instruments, and dancing by children, the four simply-dressed women, and two Jesuit scholastics.  The Deacons said their vows, laid face-down on a mat as prayers were said, the Bishop made the laying on of hands and gave the blessing of the kiss, etc, etc.  Five hour later, just before the final blessing there was a song and celebratory dance by the community.  The Mama sitting on my left, dressed in an elegant bright green and black gomesi, had actively participated throughout the entire ceremony: singing, laughing, dancing, and passionately waving a small bouquet of yellow flowers that was nothing but leaves and stems by the end of it.  She was among the first people to dance to the middle of our square, pulling two other mamas into the center to dance with her.  Within a matter of moments the majority of the 3,000 guests were gathered in the center dancing and waving their hands around the two newly ordained priests.

After the Mass the church committee went to work preparing tables of food to feed the masses.  By this time we managed to slip into the ‘Seminarians and Sisters’ section so that we could sit with our friends.  Our slick transition won us an early spot in the food line, although once seeing the amount of food that had been prepared it became clear that position in line would not determine whether one would be fed or not- the table-sized pots of rice, pasta and potatoes promised everyone would be well-fed that day!  There were Ugandan stables- starting with stiff porridge made of millet and cassava, mashed and cooked bananas called matoke, rice, pasta, boiled potatoes, boiled spinach, savory beans, boiled cow and goat meat, boiled cow intestines, roasted insects in peanut paste, and chopped cabbage and carrot salad.  The dancing continued as we devoured the food.  There were traditional performances by the local clan and choreographed routines danced by the youths in the community.  Satisfied with food, we slipped away from the dancing and merriment to take a walk through the quiet village surrounding us.  A light rain came in the late afternoon but in the distance we could hear the drum still beating as the celebration continued into the evening…

--~--

We spent a few more days in Uganda, staying on a farm in a village with our friend’s family.  The family shared with us the many uses of bananas- from teaching us to make banana beer (called mwenge), to showing us how to weave baskets and mats from banana fibers, to cooking our food in banana leaves and serving us piles and piles of matoke.  We toured the hills of their coffee farm, visited the sweet-hearted woman across the swamp who brings the family fresh milk every day, and entertained the family as they dressed us in gomesi.  The family’s warm welcoming and hard-working lifestyle deeply reminded me of my own hard-working farming family in Kansas and for the first time since moving to Tanzania, I began to feel the pains of homesickness: that longing for the comfort and familiarity of our lives as we experienced them when we were young.  

From the village in Uganda, I went back to Mwanza in Tanzania, and then back to Dodoma!  Now, we have one more week of “fall” break before the students return for an exciting last three months of classes.

Peace,

Mary

Lives to Be Celebrated

When I set out on this journey, my mission was to immerse myself in Tanzanian culture and learn how my skills can be used to serve others. Over a fourth of the way in, I am finally finding the courage to start living out the first part of this mission. Learning a new language is easy. Read language guides; take notes; memorize vocabulary; done. Using a new language is not as simple. I like to believe that learning the foundation for Kiswhaili during my last stint here gave me a leg-up on the process of re-immersion, however it is only now, more than seven-months in country, that I have gained the confidence to fully participate in conversations. Finally I can ask about people's lives beyond the necessary greetings and I can understand (for the most part) what they tell me in reply. This confidence has given me the courage to further immerse myself in the local community. At school I help in the kitchen, making bread for the students with the kitchen crew; I learned to make juice with the St. Gemma sisters who run the nearby Jesuit primary school; and I am increasing my visits to the village, meeting people and learning ways we can incorporate an entrepreneurial program for the village women into the community service program at school.

The most important part of these experiences is hearing the stories people have to share: the head cook's commitment to fasting as a form of prayer; the Sister who serves as Headmistress to a school of over 500 young ones and manages to squeeze just fifteen minutes of personal time for exercise into her busy routine of prayer, work, and service; the Mama who is conflicted over how to encourage her teenage daughter to return to school after several incidents when the daughter became deranged and unresponsive in class, presumably possessed by evil spirits...these are stories of the lives of people who are braver than me in uncountable ways.

Many people flattered me with encouragement and praise as I prepared for this commitment to be a Jesuit Volunteer. I am filled with gratitude to have so many people supporting me and encouraging me as I follow what I think is my calling. However it is the lives of these people... the people that I am seeing everyday (and the lives of the people that each of us see everyday) that are truly deserving of celebration.

Today, a Form I girl came to me seeking advice: her parents had separated just before her birth, her mom having been badly beaten by her father. Since then her father found another women who refuses to work and who insults her mother. The father's mother dislikes my student's mother and so went to a witch doctor to influence the father to kill the mother. The grandmother passed last year and my student is holding on to faith that with the grandmother gone, and with the help of religion, her father and mother can be together again.  The student came to me asking for counseling: should she talk to her father and try to persuade him to get back together with her mother at the risk of him ending his assistance with her education, or should she remain quiet and watch in despair as her mother struggles? This girl is just 13 years old. After sharing her thoughts with me she decided it would be better to wait a few more years before confronting her father; her education, afterall, is more important to her. She is a brave girl. Her life needs to be celebrated.

Another person- actually a couple- a pastor and his wife, are neighbors to us.  They have traveled all around the region building churches.  I was invited to attend a service at their newest project. The three-hour service was complete with an hour of unhibited singing led by their youngest 18-year old daughter and nine tear-jerking exorcisms performed by the pastor himself. After this I was welcomed in their home for sodas and lunch. Following lunch the conversation led to us exchanging languages: the pastor's wife teaching her tribal language, myself teaching the remaining Spanish that Kiswahili hasn't yet pushed out of my brain, and my fellow volunteer teaching bits of French she remembers from her college studies. It is the lives of the Pastor's wife, and the Pastor -they who are living out their vocation with utter dedication and joy- their lives who need to be celebrated.

It is the life of the shopkeeper who, at 25, diligently works in his shop, keeping inventory and managing his customers' needs- especially the needs of us volunteers, who buy nine rolls of toilet paper bi-weekly, one loaf of bread twice per week, jars of peanut butter and jam every third week, and eggs almost daily. Our good-natured shopkeeper prays at the same church as we do every Sunday and returns to his shop promptly after the 7:15am Mass; he watched the World Cup on the tv inside his shop and rejoiced when Germany won it all; he gifted me with mango juice when I had malaria; he patiently listens and teaches us as we all have stumbled through our grocery list in Kiswahili. His life needs to be celebrated.

I am too easily consumed by the day-to-day demands of teaching, being a choir member, and understanding my role as a volunteer and I forget to celebrate the lives of these inspiring people around me. It is from them that I begin to understand the meanings of courage and faith. It is their example that inspires me to find joy in each day and every experience that I have during this time as a volunteer. 

Six Months...time for an update!

Indeed it is now six months that I have been in Tanzania! Time is swiftly moving and my last reflection shares where my thoughts have been over these past few months: on relationships in community life. Living in community has been by far the most challenging part of this experience so far, and from it has come many reflections on my values and my mission as a volunteer.

Right now the school is closed for June holiday for two weeks until Form II and Form IV students return for additional classes. Form II and Form IV take the national exams later this year and it is these scores that determine whether they can advance or not, so many schools require these students to follow a strict schedule to prepare them for the exams. The school will open for Form I and Form III students in early July. During my two weeks of vacation I traveled to Arusha with my community mate for a brief get-away to reflect on these last six months. I visited my host-family whom I stayed with when I was here in 2012, we walked around Arusha treating ourselves to avocado milkshakes and sushi, and hiked part of Mount Meru. We stayed at the Jesuit novitiate and were there for the ceremony welcoming the new novices into the Society of Jesus. It was a refreshing trip!

Now I am back in Dodoma catching up on emails and letters (and this blog!) before going back to school. I am looking forward to the fresh start of a new term and the chance to put some ideas into action at school and in the relationships I am building with others in my community.

Thank you for all of your continued prayers and support! Everyday I wake up filled with gratitude for being here and this opportunity to share my experience with so many others!

Amani,

Mary

The past six months in pictures:

Jesuits vs. Jesuit Volunteers volleyball match at SPCHS

Form II students volunteering at a home for children with mental disabilities as part of the Community Service program

Double rainbow showering blessings over SPCHS

Celebrating International Women's Day with the young women at SPCHS

Celebrating my Birthday with my community mates from America (above) and Europe (below) at a local restaurant

Another day of community service at the same home for children with disabilities. 

Our community having a sweet treat at Dodoma's best ice cream shop.

A view of Arusha from Mt. Meru

Victoria and I hiked part of Mt. Meru during June holiday

No fewer than 200 chicks made their home with the Jesuits mid-April.  These little ones will help to provide eggs and meat for the students at SPCHS.

The neighbor girls love coming over to play games and teach us Kiswahili.

Jamie and I ambitiously climbed to harvest the fruit of our pomegranate tree

Julius came for a final meal before going to the Jesuit novitiate where he will be for two years in training to become a Jesuit! 

The convent in Rombo near Moshi, where we spent April retreat.

The Dar es Salaam and Dodoma volunteers feasting on retreat at the Huruma Convent near Moshi.

Students dancing in the Talent Show

Students letting out some more energy after the Talent Show

Preparing liquid food for the new chicks at the Jesuit Residence in Ihumwa

The office Victoria and I share at SPCHS, filled with books waiting to be graded!

Some unexpected finds on the computer lab bookshelf in our office

Teachers piling into the Jesuits' truck for a lift to town after the bus broke down at the day's end

Learning to run out of the desert and into community

(written on 5, June)

A young woman met me on the path I was running the other morning. It is on rare occasion that I meet other people running at the same time as I am, and even more novel for it to be another woman. We were running in opposite directions, heading towards each other, and as the distance between us closed she turned and waited until I was beside her so that we might run together. Within a few strides we were in sync and we just ran. Not a word was spoken between us. I wondered for how long we would share the path before she would split away in different direction. Generally I run alone so that my thoughts may wander freely without being filled with concern for another person's needs but this time I was grateful for company on the path. We reached my turning point so I thanked her for the run. She only looked at me with a blank face and then turned to continue running with me. We ran for another five minutes then she simply stopped and turned back, leaving us to go our separate ways.

So often this happens to us in life! We meet someone whom we are not looking for nor expect to find, they join us on our journey in life maybe as a co-worker, a teammate, a roommate or a spiritual partner...  we don't know how long they will remain in our lives. We don't know for how long we will share the same path. But how important is the length of our shared journey? If it is God (or however it is you identify the Greater Being) that connects us to others why must we try to overstep the Mystery that is at work between us by trying to know and predict everything? The people who enter our lives are there as they are. We can meet them as they are on the path or we can wish they were further ahead or behind us, as if we are in a race and they either the competition that pushes us to go further or the slower runners that make us feel better about our own ability to run. We can demand to hear answers to questions that even they are not sure of, or we can be companions sharing a sacred silence that is heavy with the contemplations and reflections on the lives that we are living.

As this Easter seasons draws to an end I find myself reflecting on the forty years the Israelites spent wandering in the desert looking for an experience of God. From time to time we all find ourselves in a spiritual desert. A desert where we wander alone, seeking refuge in the oasis of support given by friends and family only when we need it, and only when we choose to stop and rest from the exhausting heat of the sun or from the torments of our self-depleting thoughts.

In the days preceding Easter my community traveled to Moshi in Northern Tanzania on a retreat for personal reflection and to engage in dialogue to improve our community life. Living in community requires us to become conscious of how our actions and words impact others and it teaches us to practice forgiveness -of others and ourselves- when we fail to live up to the expectations we set. I read some of the work of Thomas Merton while on retreat and was really struck by his insight on community life and solitary life. Merton compares solitary life to desert life, a life filled with despair and a wandering that can drive us mad. Sometimes, he says, we are drawn to this desert to find something more meaningful in life. This happens especially when our lives with others become very complicated. He writes, “Do not feel to solitude from the community. Find God first in the community, then He will lead you to solitude.”

How often do we flee to the desert to get away from whatever problems are around us? We don't want to deal with a disrespectful co-worker, an unpredictable boss or an over-active roommate and we escape into a solitary life within the desert. We tell ourselves we can go on alone, without these people or others to share the joys and agonies of life's experiences. Sometime we convince ourselves that we are more spiritual and holy when we are in the desert because we think we are alone with God. But are we not, in fact, just alone with ourselves? When the Israelites escaped the desert they rejoiced- they were at least free from the torments and trials of wandering alone in their suffering, they were reunited with friends and families, enemies and strangers, and they were happy. Being in the presence of others was the greatest reward.

Though our lives may be riddled with troubles like working through a conflict with a friend, finding meaning in our work, or learning how to live with our imperfections, retreating to a desert will not bring us the peace we seek- and I am witnessing the truth of this in the people I am working with. Tanzania is a communal society which means that individuals work together to benefit the community first, and as a result individual lives are improved. In our school community the faculty and staff support each other when there is an illness, death, birth, or wedding within the community; at lunch the teaching and non-teaching staff sit and eat together; on sports days our netball and soccer teams are made up of workers from the kitchen staff, faculty members, and administration. The community spirit is certainly not perfect and it is well-known that we can improve our collaborations with each other, but I think the foundation for this living and learning from each other is there, now we need to nurture it and let it blossom into something beautiful.

In the same way we must nurture the complicated relationships in our lives. We must will ourselves to meet others as they are on the path and be grateful for however the relationship is in that moment, without trying to predict what will come of the relationships or how it will end. It is in this way we will find ourselves in solitude, or the peace that allows us to be calm and patient. In solitude we will find it possible to go on the path without knowing when the person will go her own way. If we choose the solitary path in the desert and retreat to the oasis of community support only when we desire it, we will find ourselves in the deepest dunes without any oases in sight when we are most spiritually tired and thirsty. The young woman on my running path reminds me that if we go with others and embrace them as they are, for however long they are with us, we will find it is easier to forgive ourselves for our own failings and the path on which we are going will be less lonesome, even if for only five minutes.

Sharing the work of my students

At St. Peter Claver I have taken on the role of Matron for the Creative Writing Club.  The club consists of twelve dedicated students who are passionate about putting their thoughts into writing. Some of the work is being shared with parents, relatives and friends at http://spchswriters.wordpress.com/.

You are welcome to visit this site and read about the lives of some of the students at St. Peter Claver, written from their own perspectives!

An Evening Bike Ride

An evening bike ride:

a dirt road winding endlessly through fields, villages and back yards;

a small child sucking on the head of a hammer;

a white duck waddling through someone's back yard;

a middle-aged man working in a corn field;

two men pulling wooden carts filled with unidentifiable goods;

several women laughing around a pot cooking something over a fire;

children dressed in white and maroon school uniforms returning home;

a crowd of people holding baskets and bags waiting to board a daladala;

a small girl driving a motorcycle as a father sits behind;

small boys using sticks to steer bucket lids down the road;

deep ruts and puddles from last night's rain;

heavy heads of sunflowers bent over in fields;

a man landscaping a border around a house;

two young men raising a metal gate in a yard;

three women carrying full baskets on their heads emerging from a field;

two men repairing a bicycle puncture alongside the road;

a blue sky filled with white cumulus clouds that sit just out of arm's reach;

a cool breeze promising another nighttime rain;

a friendly parishioner sharing part of his story alongside me;

a sun setting behind the distant mountains;

a time for reflection.

A short story about surrender

Many of you know about my tendency of arriving five minutes late to meetings, social activities, and leisure events. I like to think that I uphold a higher standard of promptness for work and school-related priorities (like going to class) although even with these I am guilty of being late on some occasions. Sometimes I am late because I try to do just one more thing before I leave my house, other times I am prone to being late because I get caught up in a conversation with someone that I pass on the way to my destination. The bottom line is that being on time was not among my top priorities in life.

In my travels, I have learned that the value of time is very different among different cultures. My experience in Guatemala led me to understand that non-Western countries place very little importance on arriving on time, much less on arriving early like I was taught to do when I was younger. The clearest example in Guatemala was during one afternoon when I sat waiting with my service group for someone to lead us to our service site. We waited at the meeting place for at least two hours until our leader arrived, without showing a hint of awareness of our irritation. Looking back, I am grateful for the humility we showed in resisting to make our impatience known to the leader and thereby embarrass ourselves and probably cause some kind of cultural offense.

Living in Tanzania continues to test my willingness to surrender my beliefs and expectations that I have derived from Western culture and challenges me to have humility as I seek an understanding of the beliefs behind the experiences that cause me to become impatient and frustrated with the day's affairs.

Last Saturday was one of these days.

My morning began with the ambition to take a daladala to school early, so that I might arrive before lunch-time. This would allow time to prepare some things before I left with the students for community service at 2pm. We were going to a new service site to play with children who have mental disabilities and myself and the other teacher who I lead community service with were excited for the day. Around 10 o'clock, I was informed that a Jesuit was running errands in town and would be able to give me and my community mate a lift to school. This would be much more convenient than waiting in town for up to an hour for a ride on a daladala. Our Jesuit friend estimated his errands would take an hour. So we waited. And waited. And waited. At 12:30pm he came, apologized for the delay, and drove us into town to pick up the school nurse who was taking care of a student who needed special attention. The nurse said she needed just ten more minutes to finish the business. Time was nearing 1:30pm and I began to worry that we would be late for community service. I called the bus driver to see how close to school the bus was. No response. Meanwhile the teacher who I lead community service with calls me and tells me she has not heard from our service site to confirm that it was okay for our 45 students to come for the afternoon. I began to panic: What if the bus is late and we are delayed in reaching the service site on time? What if we make it to service site but they are not ready for us? What if I am late and the bus driver and students (and service site) have to wait because of it? The stress and desire for control increases. Thirty minutes later, the nurse returns with the student and declares that we need to take the student to the hospital. So we drive to the hospital and wait some more as the good nurse makes sure the student is taken care of before we leave. It is now ten minutes until two o'clock as we drive away from the hospital towards school. On the way we stopped at a mechanic shop to pick up another Jesuit friend whose truck was having engine troubles. As we drive into the shop, our friend tells us our front tire has a puncture. It was in this moment that I willed myself to let go of this innate longing for control.

You see, in the United States there is a culture that encourages punctuality. Culture is created by people in a society and society in the U.S. is very systematic. Every person has a role to play and follows a routine each day to fill that role. Before I came to Dodoma I worked in the kitchen at a shelter. Every morning I woke at 5:30, locked the door of my friend's apartment and drove to the shelter. I entered the gate with my key card, and unlocked the kitchen doors. Inside the kitchen the first step was to turn on the lights and start heating water for oatmeal, then set up the breakfast buffet by 6:15 so that the residents could eat before leaving for work or school. My work day continued with this routine of deadlines that kept food service on time for the residents. I was held accountable for this routine. If lunch was not ready at 11:30am, the residents would soon take their complaints to the central office. If I slept just five minutes past my alarm and arrived five minutes late, I would find my coworker waiting for me outside of the kitchen. In the U.S., or at least in the parts of the U.S. that I have lived in, the only good excuse for being late is if a serious accident or emergency happens. Sure, we all are late to meetings or classes or work from time to time with some excuse like sleeping in late, having just one more cup of coffee, getting stuck in traffic... but in general we strive to be prompt because this behavior is praised, even awarded in our society (if you ask the employee of the month they are probably almost always on time). This is the culture I come from. Even if punctuality is not a personal priority I know that it is expected of me by others.

Being punctual is low on the list of expectations in Tanzania, and on this Saturday I willed myself to let go of my longing to meet this expectation. As I waited in Dodoma I reflected on all of the lives that interacted with each other and the small things that happened that caused the day to unfold as it did. At first, I saw these as delays- starting with the errands of my Jesuit friend. Doing any business in Dodoma always takes longer than one might expect. Going to the bank involves waiting in a line for at least 15 minutes. Walking through the market includes greeting the friends and shopkeepers you know along the way. Buying electricity might require waiting for the seller to return from break, or wherever she may be. Then, the nurse who was delayed with the student for those thirty minutes may have been delayed because the pharmacist had to handle an emergency in the morning that delayed his re-stocking of medicines. There were other inconveniences, for example the bus driver was unreachable, I learned, because I was given his old phone number. The service site was not reachable because the matron's phone was not working. The tire had a puncture because of the rough roads it manages everyday...so many things that are well out of my control that I was labeling an “inconvenience” or “delay” to my day. But since when was this day mine? All of these people whom I interacted with were equally a part of this day. Their agendas became intertwined with mine. Their plans and mine affected each other. One person's own human error influenced others. It was futile to worry and get stressed out over these things which were out of my control. When I allowed myself to let go of my expectation for the day to unfold as I thought would be best, I could find joy in the small moments that happened. Like the rain that was blessing the dusty town of Dodoma, or the two dogs running in circles in a yard across from the hospital, or the unfortunate coincidence of having a punctured tire with so many people relying on the service of the vehicle...

We decided the puncture was not severe enough to take immediate action and continued the journey to school. When we arrived we saw the school bus pulling into the gate just before us. The students boarded the bus and we arrived at the service site. The matron welcomed us with open arms and the students shared so much love with the children.

There have been many days like that Saturday. Days when the bus is 30 minutes late to pick us up for school in the morning, days when the morning assembly extends into the first period and the timetable is off schedule for the rest of the day, days when choir practice lasts for two hours instead of an hour and a half, days when dinner is at 8:30pm instead of 7:00pm because the electricity went off, days when the tailor is absent from her sewing table and having an outfit made is delayed another week, days when the morning plans are pushed aside by a determined effort to catch a rat in the kitchen.

I am learning to surrender myself to the events and lives of people that enter my life each day and screw up whatever schedule I imagine having for myself. It is not the accomplishment of completing a lengthy to-do list that brings me joy at the end of the day. It is the student who stays in my office to chat about life. It is the companionship and compassion the students show with the students as they played with young children during service. It is the will of my Jesuit friend to kindly wait while the nurse cares for the student. It is the conversations and jokes exchanged with my coworkers as we escort the students to service without a sure plan of what will happen. I still think following a schedule is important, as it is one of the surest ways to make plans with others, but ranking punctuality as a top priority is setting myself up for unnecessary stress and worry when the day does not follow this plan. By letting go of this desire it is possible to welcome something else in its place: the lives of others. And I am learning that there is much joy to be found in doing that.  

Wanafunzi Wetu [our students]

It has been two and half months now, and the commitment to live and work in Tanzania for two years is starting to sink in. Friendships are forming, the streets are Dodoma are becoming familiar, and understanding Kiswahili is becoming more possible with each day. Upon arrival in Tanzania I was told that it takes three months for a visitor to move past the condition of being a guest. I near that mark with excitement, feeling grateful for these weeks of learning that are leading me to a deeper understanding of the culture and myself.

At school I am finding myself being challenged and stretched as I learn about the way meetings are run, how administration and the teaching staff interact with each other, what motivates teachers and students to perform well...these are facets of the Tanzanian work culture that I am slowly coming to understand. This is the first year that teachers at SPCHS have shifted away from using corporal punishment. Before classes started this year the Jesuit province of East Africa hosted a training seminar on child abuse and human rights. All of us teachers attended and discussed what child abuse looks like in the school setting and what alternatives we can use to discipline our students. Classroom management is a constant uphill battle. Each class has over forty students, and the stubborn few often stand out and distract the serious majority. Many of the students have become accustomed to corporal punishment, but now public shaming has taken its place. Students who misbehave by not wearing the proper uniform or by not cleaning their tables and dishes after lunch for example, are called to stand in front of the student body at morning assembly; sometimes they must kneel on the concrete until the assembly is finished. These methods seem to be very effective; students do not want their classmates to stare and laugh at them in front of everyone, they would rather remain one among the many of students who followed the rules. A student's test scores and grades are also made public for all students to see. The idea behind this, I have learned, is that a student who performs poorly will be called out among his or her classmates and reminded that they have not done well so who are they to laugh and make jokes during study time or act as if they know the material. Understanding this method has taken many weeks, and still I question how harmful this method might be for the mental health of the student who was disciplined or performed poorly on the exam. Sometimes the students cry when they see their low score. Does seeing how that score compares to others leave the students feeling defeated, or motivated to work harder? Does public embarrassment leave the student feeling a lasting shame that leads to isolation or does the feeling give way to better decision making in the future?

The students are kept to a strict schedule: they wake at 4:30 or 5:00am and go to their classrooms for an hour of study time before 6:30am Mass. Breakfast is served at 7:00am, then they gather for the morning assembly or class meetings at 7:30am. Classes begin at 8:00am. At 9:20am there is a thirty minute break for tea. Classes resume until lunch at 12:30pm. Afternoon classes are from 2:00 to 4:00pm. Then there is an hour and half for sports, cleaning, or debate activities, depending on the day. Dinner is served at 6:30pm, then at 7:30pm students return to their classrooms for evening studies until 9:30pm.

The schedule changes for the weekends, though the times remain similar: On Saturday students can sleep until 6:30am Mass, then they have breakfast before going to their classrooms for Continuing Assessment Exams. Tea break is the only interruption in this time until 12:30pm lunch. After lunch is community service: this includes slashing the grass around campus, cleaning the dormitories, picking up trash, or traveling with the Community Service Department for the off campus service projects that I help lead. There is free time from 4:00pm until 6:30pm dinner, then a planned activity from 7:00 until 9:30pm. Mass on Sundays is at 7:00am, then morning study time until lunch. Sunday afternoons are free until 6:30 dinner, then the evening study schedule resumes.

The students are starting to readjust to this tight schedule since being on break in December; some still struggle with staying awake during classes after a short night of resting from their long day of work, while other students are so intentional with their free time that they use it to work on the things they are most passionate about. Some share with me the stories they have written, or the pictures they have drawn, others show me their long term goals and a month by month guide of all the steps they will need to take to reach that goal. The students are my inspiration on the days when I feel tired or lazy. Witnessing how they put their passions into action is what motivates me to put a little more energy and creativity into my lesson plans. Hearing their stories and ambitions helps me see life in their eyes, and think more deeply about how I am spending my time and how much energy I put into my passions. When they share with me their insecurities and become vulnerable about their challenges – of learning English, of managing time, of moving on from a father's death- I am moved to have compassion, to listen to their stories, and encourage them to celebrate their unique experiences that have shaped them into who they are. 

These little conversations are some of the many blessings that come with each day. They fill me with gratitude for all the people and places that have led me to being here, and all the support I have and still receive as I learn how my skills can be used to serve others. The more closely that I work with our students the more I am able to understand that age, gender, and space do not define who a student is; it is the seeking to be and understand more that defines the student. Being with the students reminds me that I am a student myself, and from them I have much to learn.

Amani,

MLS

We are workers, not master builders

Hello again and happy new year!

The past two weeks have been filled with lots of activity at school. Form I students arrived one week before Forms II, III and IV for orientation and a chance to adjust to life at a boarding school before the older students could flaunt their experience. Now, the students at St. Peter Claver have all arrived and are preparing for classes to begin on Monday. Originally the plan was to start school a week earlier, on January 13^th, but Sunday was Zanzibar's Independence day and that night the President made an announcement that the public holiday would extend into Monday. Tuesday was another public holiday, the Islamic holiday of Maulid Day, and so school was delayed again. That same day the teachers were informed of a seminar we were to attend on Wednesday and Thursday, so our opening day with the students was moved to Friday and classes are assumed to begin on Monday. This change of events has reminded me of the importance of being flexible!

There is much excitement and activity among the teachers and administration as we prepare for the first year of graduation. With St. Peter Claver being so young there are many opportunities for growth and improvement in what has begun. Last year many students struggled academically and with disciplinary issues and it was realized that in order for students to do well in school, their whole selves (psychological, emotional, social, spiritual, physical) must be nurtured. Thus came the creation of the all-encompassing Campus Ministry department that oversees all clubs, sports, guidance and counseling, service-learning, and faith and spirituality programs. I have joined the Campus Ministry team in the guidance and counseling department and the service-learning department. For guidance, I will meet with four different streams of students each week and lead discussion on topics like peer pressure, relationships, family issues and being homesick, identity, and discerning vocations. The service-learning program was started three years ago by another JV, and has been carried on by other teachers. I have joined the team and will lead sessions on community service before the students go out to the villages to do service.

As I prepare for these sessions I have been reflecting on the differences of doing community service in the U.S. compared to doing community service here in Tanzania. The service-learning team has gathered feedback from the older students on their experience of tutoring in a nearby village and now we sit with the recognized challenges of doing service in places where the restraints on resources, time, and abilities are confounded with things like a lack of chalkboards, textbooks and other teaching aids, language barriers between students who have been taught in English but now must teach in KiSwahili, and inconsistencies of bringing a different group of students every week due to limited transport. When the resources are few and the need is great and the students think that charity is the only way to be of service, how can they gain an understanding of social justice? I have been told that we teachers are shaping the future leaders of Tanzania. How can they learn about social justice and acts of service in a way that they will be able to incorporate them into their daily actions now, so that later it will be reflected in their decisions? How can this be taught to 11, 12 and up to 18-year olds? Will the students even understand the message of justice that St. Peter Claver is imparting on them? When they graduate will they leave fully embracing the school's motto “To Learn, To Love, To Serve” that they have drilled into their heads and repeat at least a dozen times every day?

This week for spirituality night my community reflected on this Sunday's gospel reading (John 1:18-34). In the reading, the Pharisees challenge John the Baptist when he speaks of Jesus' coming for Baptism. They ask him, if he is not the Messiah then why he is baptizing people? John the Baptist, such a humble and faith-filled man, denies any such title and recognizes that his being is just one of many in the world, and he is there only to serve the Lord. His humility grants him the grace to accept that his work is not his own but the work of a greater force. These readings come at a perfect time as I prepare to teach.

Each of us are servants under this same great force. Our work then, is not our own but a continuation of something that was started by something greater. We are here for a short time and our work will continue beyond us. The teachers at St. Peter Claver seem to really get this. Already I see how tirelessly they work day and night, putting all of their energy into the lives of the students and their methods of teaching. They are able to look past disciplinary issues to see that each student is a child to be nurtured and loved. Their work is overlooked by many and misunderstood by some, but they manage because they embody the understanding that “we are workers, not master builders” (words by Oscar Romero). They are my inspiration already when I am troubled by the challenges of community service or the fears of managing a classroom of forty some students on my own. They are my living examples of John the Baptist and his humble ways of accepting that the work he has been given is God's work, and his task is to do his best with the work and trust that others after him will carry it on.

Here is the quote I referenced from Oscar Romero. It is a reminder for me to embrace my time in Tanzania with an open heart and to have humility with the work I have been given.

This is what are are about: We plant seeds that one day will grow. We water seeds already planted, knowing that they hold future promises. We lay foundations that will need further development. We provide yeast that produces effects far beyond our capability.

We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that. This enables us to do something, and to do it very well. It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the lord's grace to enter and do the rest.

We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the mater builder and the worker. We are workers, not master builders, ministers, not messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own.

Until next post,

MLS